


May You Enjoy Your New Life

by aimmyarrowshigh



Series: May You Enjoy Your New Life [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Babies, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Parents, Babies, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst and Smut, Growing Up, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2013-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-13 12:49:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 264,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/824494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins for them all at the bungalow – </p><p>'Alright, time to lay out the cards. We’re in this together and hopefully, for the long haul, yeah? So I think – you know, we should just be honest. It’s deal-breakers time. That thing that like, if we’re gonna hate you or something, just tell us all now.'</p><p>When One Direction begins, Harry Styles is a sixteen-year-old boy foundering under the pressure of impending fatherhood. His ability to balance the sobering responsibility of caring for his tiny daughter, Millie, and the exhilaration of seeing his own dreams coming to fruition affects not only his future, but those of Liam, Zayn, Niall, and Louis, who never expected fealty to be the key to their success. But Liam is the first to show him how to grow up without growing old, and Zayn is the first to defend from the public what is private and precious. Louis -- Louis is the first for a lot of things; for most of the moments of Millie's life and for the moments of Harry's that matter. And Niall is the first to toast when Millie is born: Go maire sibh bhur saol nua -- 'may you enjoy your new life.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINALLY POSTED [HERE](http://higherarrowsfic.livejournal.com/1011.html) in 2012.
> 
>  **Notes:** Art by **loppps3** , AKA THE FABULOUS **LE POMIERE** , AKA THE GIRL WHOSE ART HARRY TWEETED TO LOUIS ON HIS 20th BIRTHDAY. A huge, huge, huge thank-you to **honestlychuck** , **folkloric_feel** , **igrab** , **glycerineclown** , **nodellus** , **haroldings** , **love_wilts** , and everyone else who has helped pre-read/beta read/let me blabber about this fic.  
>  **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. I have no connection nor permissions from One Direction, X-Factor, Simon Cowell, SyCo Inc., Sony, ITV, or Columbia Records. No libel intended.

It begins for them all at the bungalow – after Liam’s gone out to be a hero and run back inside scared again and they discover they’ve lost the key, so they pull all of the mattresses into a pile in the middle of the room. They’re sitting in a half-circle (so no one has to put his back to the door, just in case that cow really _is_ a murderer) and Louis says,

“Alright, time to lay out the cards. We’re in this together and, hopefully, for the long haul, yeah? So I think – you know, we should just be honest. It’s deal-breakers time. That thing that like, if we’re gonna hate you or something, just tell us all now.”

There’s silence around the other four boys, but it isn’t a disagreeable silence, so Louis takes a deep breath and smooths his hands down his blanket. 

“I suppose I’ll start then?” he asks, and no one disagrees. No one’s even really looking at anyone, although Louis thinks he can feel Harry’s gaze out of the corner of his eye. Louis swallows. “I’m – erm, I’m…I’m gay. And – you lot are the first, erm, people, actually, that I’ve ever told that. But like, we’re – I thought you should know?”

“That’s well good, Lou,” says Niall earnestly. He puts his hand on Louis’ arm, and Louis never thought he’d feel quite so glad for an Irishman. “Me mum’s – well, she’s got a partner, right? They live in Edgesworthtown.” He smiles at Louis, then looks at the rest of the circle. “I s’pose that’s mine, then. Someone else can go.”

“I’m Muslim,” Zayn says and he sticks his chin out like he does when he means _no one better fuck with me_ , and he’s the quiet one, so that’s that.

Liam glances over at Harry, who is looking at his knees, and pulls his own knee up to his chest to rest the side of his face against before speaking. “I’m a virgin?” he offers quietly. “I mean, it’s not like I’m – I’ve done _stuff_ , like. But I’m just not… I don’t know; it’s stupid.”

“’S not stupid,” Zayn offers, and it sounds like he’s about to say something more and doesn’t.

Louis smiles at Liam. He looks over to where Harry is curled up in a little ball, chewing on his thumbnail. “Harry?”

The youngest boy mumbles something around his fingernail and doesn’t look at them.

Louis chuckles. “What’s that, Hazza? You didn’t actually say words.”

Harry swallows audibly and sighs, taking his thumb away from his mouth. He coughs in that way he does and doesn’t look at any of them as he says,

“I’m a father.”

Silence.

Harry coughs again. “Or, well, I will be in four months?”

There’s a moment’s pause before Liam says, “That’s in the middle of live shows.”

“Assuming we get that far,” Harry mumbles. “Yeah, first week of November.”

“But what about all those girls at boot camp?” Zayn asks quietly. “Don’t it hurt her feelings?”

“That was just for TV,” Harry says dismissively. “I thought it’d help me get further on the show if I was on the screen a lot early on, you know, if I got put through. It was just a laugh. They were just nice girls and Konnie was just being clever.”

“Are you getting married?” Niall asks curiously. “Are you married already?”

“No,” Harry says, and coughs again. “Erm, we’re not – we don’t actually get on well, even. I mean, we did. Sort of. It was never – like that.”

“Did you break up with her when she got pregnant?” Liam asks incredulously, even as Louis and Zayn shoot him sharp looks. 

“No, we were never together,” Harry clarifies. “She, erm, her name’s Clare? She was the girlfriend of my bandmate’s brother? It was just a casual thing. There was like, a holiday weekend and we all got drunk and then everyone else started smoking up? But I don’t, on account of it hurts my throat a lot, and she just doesn’t, so we were hanging out in one of the tents and it just… y’know.”

“Well, how do you know it’s yours?” Liam presses. “Maybe she’s made it up because you’re going to be on X-Factor.”

“Liam!” hisses Louis. 

“Well, it sounds like she’s the sort of person who’d cheat on her boyfriend, so – ”

“And I’m the sort of guy then who’d fuck a girl who’s got a boyfriend,” Harry says dully. “You can’t just pick and choose to blame her. We were both there, we both did it. And it’s definitely mine. She never slept with him, and she told me well before X-Factor.”

“But it was just the once.” Liam’s eyebrows are hidden by his hair and his brown eyes are wide. “So even if her first time was you, then how do you know it isn’t the boyfriend’s from after?”

“It wasn’t just the once,” Harry says shortly. “There was like three months of – look, it doesn’t matter, the point is… yeah, I’m going to be a dad about partway through the competition, if we get put through. And I’m not going to tell anyone but you guys until after we’re done with the show.”

“If you’re not together, are you just leaving her to raise it alone, then?” Louis asks quietly, looking at Harry through the dim light. 

Harry coughs again, and Louis has to wonder how he can sing with how often he coughs and clears his throat and makes strange, small noises – not that Louis spends all of his time listening to Harry Styles. 

“Erm, well, actually, she’s kinda leaving me to raise it alone?” Harry shrugs. “Or, well, like my mum will help while we’re on the show if we get through, and whatever. But basically I promised Clare that she wouldn’t have to worry about it and – well, I like babies, so.” He sighs through his nose and scrubs his long fingers through his hair beneath the knit cap, tilting it askew. “Can we stop talking about it?”

“I don’t think we should,” Liam presses, even as Louis says ‘yes, of course’ and Niall and Zayn exchange glances and nod. “Harry, this could screw up everything for all of us. How could you be so – ”

“Stupid?” Harry asks. “Irresponsible? Reckless? Thoughtless? Liam, sometimes accidents happen. That’s just life.”

“But it’s not just your life. It’s ours now, too. I don’t want to get voted out because some guy I didn’t even know couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“Liam,” Louis says firmly, and he’s the oldest, even if Liam is the de facto leader, so Liam looks at him and inhales sharply through his nose.

“We all want to win,” Louis tells him, staring at Liam reproachfully. “And as much as you might feel worried about the competition, it isn’t fair to compare our situation now to Harry’s. Or Harry’s even to the girl’s. Stop being a prick. If you want to win so badly, why don’t you start off talking about music then and we’ll try picking songs.”

“That’s a good point,” Niall says. “I think we should sing Westlife.”

“No way,” Zayn argues, and his voice is soft and fair and passionate. “If we’re a boy band, we need to be *NSYNC. Except I don’t dance.”

“Well, then that’s just the Backstreet Boys,” Niall argues. “They didn’t dance neither.”

“Boring,” assesses Zayn. “I refuse to be Howie.”

“Well, you’re not Howie, you’re AJ anyway,” Niall dismisses, flipping his hand. “I’m stuck as Howie if we’re *NSYNC, ‘cause Louis is Kevin and Harry is Nick and Liam is Brian. That’s why we should be Westlife, oi?”

Zayn shakes his head, but Liam is still leveling Harry with a sharp, patronizing stare and Louis’ gaze is bouncing between the two of them like he’s refereeing. 

Harry stands and jams his hands into his pockets. “I’ll be right back.”

He trips over his feet on his way out of the room, and once he’s gone, Niall reaches over and swats Liam three times hard on the arm. “Whatdja do that for?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Liam’s brow creases down between his brown eyes and he rubs his arm, looking hurt. “I can’t help being sensible.”

“Sensible?” Niall asks. “You fecking well attacked him.”

“You can’t think it’s alright,” Liam asks Niall, wide-eyed. “Sixteen and in the X-Factor and with a baby? It’s the nail in our coffins.”

“It is not,” Louis says decisively. “I’ll not hear another word about it, and you’re not going to bother Harry about it. He’s got quite enough down to him without you henpecking. If he didn’t want to win, he’d not have tried out. What he needs is us, for the show and as friends. So far, we’re failing him for both.”

Liam still looks sullen, but Niall nods enthusiastically and Zayn raises his glass in something like approval. Louis gives them both a smile, then throws off the blankets he’s buried beneath and stands up.

Louis finds Harry sitting outside on the crumbling step by the kitchen doors. He’s got his index finger pressed into the inner corner of one eye and his other hand tangled up in his curls beneath the knit cap, and Louis carefully pretends that he can’t tell Harry is crying.

“Well, Liam hates me,” Harry sighs, breaking the silence after Louis’ sat down beside him with one hand rubbing small, soothing circles between Harry’s shoulder blades.

“Nah,” Louis sniffs dismissively. “He doesn’t know you well enough to hate you. He just really wants to win.”

“So do I!” Harry protests. The wind rustles through the field all around them and Louis notices again, just for a moment, how _dark_ the countryside is out here and how absolutely many stars there are. Then Harry exhales shakily and drops his chin into the basket of his arms. “I always wore a condom, you know? I’m not like, some reckless kid who’s just going to fuck everything up for lack of caring.”

“I know,” Louis says, and he drags his thumb in rolling circles over a muscle knot that makes him ache for how tightly wound Harry must be all the time, all of this hanging over his head.

“It must have just like, broke,” Harry continues, still speaking into his arms. “She told me in May, right at the beginning of May. And then basically it was just – everything kind of…”

“Went to shit?” Louis smiles at Harry, and Harry almost half-smiles back. 

“Basically, I guess.” Harry hums softly as Louis keeps working at the knot in his back. “I mean, kind of obviously, my band kicked me out over it. Then Clare and I tried actually dating, and that lasted all of about two weeks.”

“Why?” 

“We’re just two different people.” Harry sounds uncomfortable, and tilts his chin on his arms to look at Louis for the first time. “Like… she doesn’t understand why I would even want to be on The X-Factor? She’s at college finishing her qualifications to be a beauty therapist and just wants to live in Holmes Chapel, but she doesn’t think she can even do that if she has a kid.” Harry’s lips purse. 

Louis stops kneading Harry’s shoulder and ruffles his hair instead.

“God, and then she and I started fighting _all_ the time and it stressed me out so badly I got like an ulcer or something three days before auditions and had to go to hospital ‘cause I was throwing up blood.” Harry laughs thinly. “I guess I am basically a bit of a mess.”

“I don’t think you’re a mess,” Louis tells Harry, quiet and honest like a confidence. “Are you really getting full custody?”

“Yeah.” Harry rubs his eyes. “Clare may not have real ambition, but she knows what she wants and I can’t begrudge her that.”

“ _Begrudge_?” Louis asks, one eyebrow raised and a sideways smirk on his mouth. 

“Sometimes I use words like ‘begrudge.’” Harry smirks right back, and Louis remembers that cheeky kid giving his interview in line at auditions and the absolute, lit-from-within bright joy on Harry’s face when they got put through, and it’s a thousand times more hopeful than the exhausted, wan look Harry’s been wearing. He lets out a breath that makes his lips fan out like Mick Jagger. “I’m not stupid. I know it’ll be really hard. Maybe I’m a fool to think I can be someone even if I’m a dad.”

“You’re not,” Louis says earnestly. “My mum was only nineteen when she had me. I can’t imagine having a kid at my age – fucking terrifies me, honestly – but I turned out fabulous, so. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Louis smiles at Harry. “Look, I don’t know you yet, but I’ve got – faith in you, I suppose. I don’t think you’re going to let anyone down, because then you’d be letting yourself down, and you don’t seem the type.”

Harry looks up and the tip of his nose is just a bit red, his lips and eyes looking dried out and this side of puffy. “I don’t want to.”

“Then you won’t,” Louis affirms, grinning. “That’s settled. Now, we either need to sleep, learn the complete dance to ‘Bye Bye Bye,’ or draw a penis on Zayn’s face while he’s asleep. Which say you?”

“Why choose only one?” Harry asks, smiling back. His green eyes twinkle at Louis, and Louis can’t help reaching out to ruffle the curls peeking out over Harry’s ear.

“Do you want a cuddle?” Louis asks casually, slinging his arm over Harry’s shoulders. “You look like you could do with one.”

“Yes, please,” Harry murmurs, the end of his words dovetailing into a magnificent yawn. “And when we draw the penis, can we make it really hairy?”

“Of course,” Louis says, as though any other choice would be completely unhinged.

When they get back inside, Niall and Zayn have completely given up bickering about boy bands and instead have broken out the 360 and _Halo 3_ : Niall plays like he does everything else, with a constantlyrunning mouth and loose-limbed grip on the controller that takes him veering around his own axis like he thinks it’s a Wii; Zayn’s got his legs splayed and head rested against the back of the sofa and the only part of him that moves are his thumbs. 

Liam’s still sulking in his chair, peering out with low-lidded eyes and drawn brows from beneath his Bieber bangs as he watches the carnage unfolding on-screen. He looks up as Louis and Harry pad back inside and opens his mouth, but Louis just tightens his arm around Harry’s shoulders and steers him off into the kitchen, where they set about making some tea.

They spent their first day at the bungalow playing football and singing schmaltzy renditions of whatever songs popped into their heads, and their first evening terrified out of their wits of a murderer out in the cornfields who was _probably_ really a cow, but Harry and Louis spend the first night at the bungalow in the kitchen, talking about Harry’s baby and Louis’ sisters and wondering where, actually, they’d be sent for Judges’ Houses and whether it’d be nicer to get Hawai’i or Fiji or Palau or Australia and who was their judge going to be, anyway? Louis hopes against hope for Cheryl, just because, but Harry wants Simon – Cheryl has no idea they’re even a group, does she, and he thinks… well, maybe it’s a stupid, vain hope, but he thinks that Simon might care about this stupid ragtag group and might care about _him_. And plus, he’s in charge, so if Harry’s secret leaks in November… maybe he won’t get kicked off the show if the big boss is keeping Harry in his corner.

It’s about a quarter past three when Zayn comes in and claps them both on the shoulder with a sort of gruff affection and says, _I’m goin’ to bed; beat. Night._ Niall follows on his heels but drapes himself over both Harry- and Louis’ shoulders in a sort of starfish hug before he trots out of the room. Liam just waves curtly from the door.

“D’you want to just sleep in the living room?” Harry asks Louis, yawning. “I’m too tired to climb stairs, personally.”

Louis isn’t that tired – he always sleeps late; usually when it’s already gray-morning outside – but he sees the difference in Harry’s carriage even over the course of a few hours. The younger boy’s shoulders seem lighter and his eyes are less drawn. And Louis thinks, really, he was right: what Harry needed more than anything, much more than an X-Factor win, was a friend. 

“Yeah, alright,” he says. “I s’pose since we lost the key, we ought to stand guard at the door, anyway. What with a mooing murderer on the loose.”

Harry laughs, open and throaty with his eyes crinkled shut, and the two of them drag mattresses into the living room and sit them side-by-side. They’re lying on their elbows, talking comfortably to each other about porn, when Niall’s shaggy, blond head pops up from behind the couch and about scares the piss out of them.

“Fellas?” he whispers, looking sheepish, “I know it’s stupid and all, but um – it’s just a bit dark out and the field and everything, and we lost the key and there was that – you know, the noise – just – ”

“D’you want to sleep in here?” Harry offers, saving Niall the expense of asking. “Drag in a bed and have at it.”

“Thanks, lads,” Niall sighs gratefully, dancing up the stairs on ungraceful feet.

“Do you suppose he ever walks like a normal person?” Louis asks Harry curiously when Niall disappears. “He always seems to be bouncing.”

“I like it,” Harry decides. “It’s cheerful.”

When Niall reappears, blanket around his shoulders like a cape and pillow hanging from the back of his head like a demented nun as he carries the mattress roll in front of him, Zayn is following along behind, his own mattress bumping down the stairs nonchalantly. 

“What’s happening, boys?” Zayn greets, but his accent turns the ‘w’ into a ‘v’ and it makes Harry smirk. “Niall says the party’s down here.”

“More like the murderer-cow _isn’t_ ,” snorts Harry. “Budge up, Louis, let ‘em in.”

They scoot all the mattresses into a row on the floor like that nursery rhyme about the monkeys and then all four boys are huddled up, chins on their wrists in front of them, back to talking about porn and whether tits are better-looking real or fake (Louis is the tie-breaker, since he doesn’t actually care). That’s when Zayn admits that he’s as much a virgin as Liam, but it _doesn’t really bother him, anyway, ‘cause he’s just riding the rollercoaster of life_ , and Harry laughs so loudly that he has to shove his pillow into his mouth to stop.

“Um.”

They all look up and Liam’s stood in the doorway, looking a bit shifty and sheepish and clutching his own pillow and mattress roll.

“Sorry,” Liam stutters. “It’s only just – ”

“Cow-murderer?” Louis supplies helpfully.

“Yes, the cow-murderer,” agrees Liam. “Um, and I just heard you lot – um, I’ll go back upstairs, it’s – ”

“Don’t be stupid, Liam,” Harry says. “Settle in. We’ve got to move again; heave-ho.”

They push the row of mattresses a bit further and Liam squeezes his own in beside Zayn, who reaches over and pats Liam’s shoulder. Liam settles down a bit gingerly and pulls his blankets up nearly to his ears. He’s a bit rumpled now from trying to sleep upstairs, and there are wild curls peeking through the Bieber straight-ironing. It makes him look a bit more human, a bit less like a Ken Doll, and things feel – better.

“We should sleep,” Harry says. 

“We should try singing with the piano in the morning,” Liam says in a small voice. “Just to see how it sounds.”

“Yeah,” agrees Louis. “That’s a good idea. We’ll do that after bacon sandwiches.”

“Even better idea, mate,” Niall sighs, sounding a bit lusty.

“Night,” is all Zayn says, but it’s all they expected, so they each turn over and put their faces into their pillows. 

Louis is turned to face Harry and when Harry’s face smooths out in sleep, Louis thinks, _god, I’m fucked._ He lies awake for a bit because it’s still early for him, and plays a bit of TETRIS on his phone until the sky is sherbet-orange over the fields outside – and the murderer-cow has gone wherever boogeymen go during the day – and he falls asleep.

Later, once they’ve all woken and managed to find some bacon sandwiches and tea and have eaten what was allotted for the entire week, Harry’s stood at the sink, squeezing gel onto his toothbrush and trying to avoid a huge wet splotch that screams of Louis. Niall jostles his way in to share the basin.

“What’s the craic?” Niall says cheerfully. He glops together his toothbrush and paste. “Say, did’ja ever – you know, have sex with her after she got like, _well_ pregnant?”

Harry furrows his brow and bites down on his toothbrush with his furthest-back molars. “No. I told you, we don’t get on. Why?”

Niall shrugs. He moves like a marionette, Harry thinks; like all of his pieces are held together by string and can move independently when he wants them to. “Just wonderin’.”

Harry shakes his head and bends to spit.

Something wet dribbles onto the back of his head.

“Eurgh, Niall! You drooled on me!”

Niall grins at him with white lips. “Get used to it, pops.”

•••

Between the bungalow and being sent to Heathrow for a mystery trip abroad to wherever their judge is pretending to have a home, there are two spare weeks of late summer, burning gold across Holmes Chapel and raining every morning and evening through a sticky white summer-cloud sky. Harry misses the other boys more than he knows he should – especially since there’s a good chance that whenever they get where they’re going, they’ll promptly be sent home again, since they weren’t good enough to make it through on their own and they don’t know what they’re doing to become a good boy band anyway – but he’s always been a social creature and for months, he’s been lurching around the village alone.

It was just nice to have the company again. Even Liam, although he was a complete prick half the time where Harry was concerned.

Harry’s mind is constantly turning: he takes his bike up to the bakery in the mornings and thinks about the competition while he pours coffee and bags up cream scones and apricot pinwheels. He wonders, and hopes – even though Steve is still so nice to him – about whether he’ll ever have to work in a bakery again; he gets into a worry spiral whenever he thinks too hard about how he’ll ever, ever be able to afford a baby on a bakery income if they don’t get put through. If they don’t win.

They have to win. They _have_ to win, so he puts his feelings aside and Skypes with Liam every day to practice singing. Liam’s got enviable pitch and is more sensible than anyone Harry’s ever met, probably, so they just practice over and over and over. They’d gotten an envelope informing them that their song was to be Natalie Imbruglia’s version of “Torn,” and Harry’s started humming it near-constantly at work.

And at dinner.

And when he’s in the shower.

And when he’s trying to fucking fall asleep, which he doesn’t anyway. Sometimes he texts Louis at three in the morning, since the older boy is awake for no reason anyway. They don’t really talk about anything – which seems to be a specialty of Louis’ – but it helps Harry’s brain just smooth out and stop churning for a few hours, until his mother opens his door at eight and throws his apron at his head and tells him that he’s almost late to Mandeville’s _again_. 

He tries to see Clare once a week or so. He missed almost a month while the boys were at the bungalow, and there’s a break in the rain just long enough to make his hair stick down to his forehead with humidity as he bikes over to her house on the eve of leaving for Heathrow. 

Clare answers the doorbell in sweats and a tank top, eating a yogurt. Her bright blonde hair is piled up in a knot on her head and she’s still got false eyelashes on. Harry nods at her and tries to sweep his damp hair out of his eyes.

Clare sighs and shakes her head, giving Harry a small, fond smile. She rests the yogurt on her belly and quickly rakes her nails through his hair, fluffing it back to where it should be.

“You need a haircut,” she says. “Do you want one before you go?”

“Sure,” Harry says. “Thanks. How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” Clare says. “Bored. It’s nails this week at school and I can’t go ‘cause the fumes. I’ve just been around the house, and it’s driven me batty. I alphabetized my mum’s recipes all week. So glamorous.”

Harry looks down at his shoes as he toes them off just inside the doorway and the sky breaks outside with more lazy rain. He’s never sure whether she does it purposely or whether he just has the guiltiest little heart, but somehow he always ends up feeling like he’s ruining Clare’s life. 

“You were gone awhile,” Clare hedges, gesturing him into her kitchen with the spoon. “I was getting a bit scared that you decided to run off after all.”

“No,” Harry says firmly. “Stop it. You know I won’t. I was just busy with the show.”

“Right, yeah,” Clare says, toddling over to get a towel to wrap around Harry’s shoulders. “You’re headed off to some exotic vacation tomorrow, yeah?”

“Well, maybe,” Harry says. “But it’s – well, it’s not a holiday. I’ll be like, working, and probably crying a lot and just coming back here.”

“You know you won’t,” Clare mumbles around some hairpins. She spritzes down his hair with a spray bottle of water and starts to comb it through. “You’ve got a lovely voice. And you’re charming enough to talk the devil into heaven; you’ve got the x-factor well enough.”

“Thanks,” Harry says, softly and sincerely. It’s not that he doesn’t like Clare, really. It’s just that they don’t like each other _enough_.

“So are you off to Turks & Caicos? Ibiza? Seychelles? New Zealand? You know, while you’re on your flight, I’ll be off to the gyno again to get prodded in the hooha. But I guess such is life,” Clare continues, twisting up locks of Harry’s curls to get them out of the way for a trim. “Emily and Haydn and Alistair are going out to Leedsfest to see Arcade Fire and Band of Horses tomorrow, and you’re going out somewhere fabulous, and I’ll be here eating yogurt and alphabetizing my dad’s tax returns.”

And that’s why.

“I’m going somewhere _for a job_ ,” Harry says, trying to breathe through his nose. “So I can take care of my baby, okay?”

“You’re going ‘cause you love singing and you’re good at it,” Clare argues. “It’d just be a bonus if you get money for the thing.”

Harry purses his lips and tilts his head the way Clare wants so she can get at his hair. She’s not being unkind – she’s really being complimentary, and she was right: he did need a haircut – but he hates that she isn’t even trying to bond with the baby, even though he understands why. 

Clare sighs behind him. “Sorry,” she says softly, tweaking his ear. “I know you hate when I do that.”

“It’s fine.”

She cuts his hair in silence for a bit before she says, “We’ve been watching the show. It always kicks a lot when it’s on, so either it loves music or hates it. Probably loves, though. Do you know when your episodes are on?”

“Later,” Harry says. “We were some of the last auditions and I was near the middle of the day, and then bootcamp. But I don’t even know whether they’ll show me at all. I’ll be on the Xtra Factor, though, ‘cause they filmed – I filmed a gag where I’m supposed to be like dating all these girls at bootcamp, so. They’ll show that, I think.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Clare says, but she’s gentle and she runs her nails over the back of his scalp again in a way that gives him shivers.

“At the end I get kidnapped by this really creepy old man, if that makes you feel any better,” Harry offers, and this makes Clare laugh outright.

She scoots around him to cut his bangs, since they don’t have a mirror, and Harry reaches out hesitantly to let his fingertips graze over the bump of the baby. Clare doesn’t look away from where she’s snipping at his hair, but nods, so Harry flattens his palm carefully over the skin.

“That’s weird,” he says after a moment. “It’s kicking like on rhythm.”

“Hiccups,” Clare mumbles around her pins again. “It gets them all the fucking time.”

“Does it hurt?” Harry asks, concerned, glancing up at Clare. He gets an eyeful of hair trimmings for his trouble and his eye waters down his cheek.

“No,” Clare says. “Kind of tickles. It’s been really squirmy lately and is always kicking me. Also, I have to pee ‘cause it’s sitting on my bladder, so I’ll B-R-B.”

While Clare is gone, Harry blinks his eye madly and tries not to think about the fact that she actually said “BRB” out loud. The hair is finally out of his eye, but the rain has picked up and smacks against the kitchen windows when Clare comes back.

She touches the side of his chin, down near the curve of his jaw. “Tilt this way.”

He does, his hand sliding back onto the mound of her belly easily as she snips a few more shards out of his curls. She was right; the baby is squirming and kicking and hiccupping like crazy under his palm, and Harry can’t help smiling a little as his heart seizes up and he strokes gently with his thumb. There’s a real little person-thing under there, turning somersaults under this fingers and trying to get comfortable and he wonders whether maybe it’s the yogurt giving it hiccups, because there’s like bugs in yogurt or something, aren’t there? Or bacteria or something, so commercials tell him. Maybe the baby doesn’t like it.

Maybe they have that in common. Not liking yogurt.

“Okay,” Clare declares later, startling Harry out of his enamored preoccupation with the fluttering feeling of the baby kicking at his hand. “You’re done and you’re gorgeous. You’ll capture the hearts of a nation.”

“You make it sound like I’m a fancy show dog,” Harry says, but he smiles at her.

Clare crinkles her nose like she’s equivocating and Harry laughs. She ruffles his hair. “Do you mind if I just nap with my iPod in while you have baby time?” she asks. “I’m tired.”

“No, that’s fine,” Harry says, secretly glad that he can almost have some privacy with the baby. 

Clare smiles gratefully at him and ruffles his hair, so Harry scowls and shakes it back out, shaggy-dog style indeed, as he follows her out to the living room. He can see that she’s built up her nest on the couch over the last few weeks since he saw her: there are issues of Elle and Glamour, Grazia and Hello, even a few issues of Frankie buried under the blanket around the sofa and empty yogurt containers _everywhere_. Clare stretches again and rolls her shoulders before settling down on the couch, nestled back against a pile of pillows and issues of OK!. She puts her earbuds in and closes her eyes as Harry folds himself down into the space between the couch and coffee table.

He reaches out towards her belly. “Can I…?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clare mutters, relaxing into the cushions. “Whatever.”

Harry carefully pushes her tank top up a bit so that he can see the baby -- _well, not really_ , he thinks, _that would be_ really _weird and probably pretty gross_ \-- and leans in close enough to almost-rest his lips against the bump. Clare reaches down sleepily to pet Harry’s soft hair, but it’s more because his curls tickle her than because he’s him and she’s her and it’s their baby. 

Harry sweeps his fringe back as best he can and slides his palm over the roundest bit of Clare’s stomach again. He glances up to check that Clare’s really asleep, or nearly, and whispers, “Hi, Baby. You’re a lot bigger than last time we talked.”

Roll and flutter. 

Harry grins and his chest warms up with his ticklish-bright heart and he nuzzles the tip of his nose and the pad of one finger against the place where the tiny feet are kicking at him. “Have you been good lately? Where do those hiccups come from, Baby? Is it the yogurt?”

A squirm.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry murmurs, soothing gently with his palm. “Well, you’ve only got a few more months to deal with it. And then I promise, no yogurt ever. Not under my roof. Oh – there they are again, huh. I’m sorry.” There’s a somersault beneath his hand so small and slight that he can barely feel anything but the little twist, but Harry giggles and his nose crinkles and he doesn’t even glance up to check that Clare is still asleep before he rests his lips in the vague direction of the baby’s legs. “I’m also sorry I was gone for so long. You probably don’t even remember me. I was really busy, though, with that thing I told you about, the competition. The other boys came to stay out here so we could practice and maybe win so I can give you everything. Except yogurt.”

The baby gives a contented stretch, so Harry keeps talking. “We were learning our song, and I get a solo even though Zayn and Liam probably sing better than me, and Niall and Louis are just as good, maybe. We’re singing that song, ‘Torn’… you don’t know that song, probably, since you’re like negative four months old, though. Here.” He presses his mouth up close to where he thinks the baby’s ear might be, near Clare’s hip, and hums the song. 

There are a lot of tiny wriggles, and he chooses to think that it’s dancing.

He rubs with his thumb a minute before he speaks again. “I’m gonna be gone next week, too, ‘cause I’m going – I don’t know where I’m going, actually. But I’m coming back. But then I might – I might be gone for a while. Like, until you’re born and a small person and everything. And I’m really sorry if that happens that I won’t be here to talk to you like this. I do _want_ to be here for you, but it’s something I’ve gotta do. You’ll hear me, though, probably. On TV. And when you’re born, I’ll talk to you every day and you can see what I look like. I’d describe myself for you but I don’t think you understand concepts like ‘curls’ yet. Since you can’t see anything. They’re sort of a visual idea.”

There’s a rhythmic patter under his fingertips and he taps against the little feet like he’s playing piano and the piano is playing back. “I should probably go home to pack my suitcase. But I love you!” he offers earnestly. “I’ll sing you the one you like before I go.”

He puts his mouth against Clare’s belly again and hums his way through Stevie Wonder’s “Isn’t She Lovely,” then adds, “And if you’re a boy, then please don’t be offended. I’d say ‘it’ but it sounds weird.”

He rests his forehead against the bump for a minute, then stands up. He cracks his back and touches Clare’s shoulder. She opens her eyes lazily and reaches down to fold her tank top back down over her stomach.

“Thanks,” Harry says, smiling sweetly with his lips closed and eyes soft. “I really appreciate it. I’m gonna go.”

“Mmm, no problem,” Clare says. Harry holds out his hands and she takes them with a smile so he can help her sit up in the floppy nest of pillows and blankets and fashion spreads. “Is it still raining out there?”

“Not sure.” Harry shrugs. “I wasn’t paying attention, really. Can I use your bathroom before I go? And I want to see my hair.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clare says, and stands up with a soft groan. “Go ahead. I’ve just gotta stretch a bit. My back’s aching.”

“You should get a massage,” Harry suggests, then pauses. “Can you get a massage?”

“I don’t think so,” Clare muses. “I can’t lie on my belly for a while. It’s okay. Come November I’ll get more massages than I can handle.”

She smiles and Harry swallows before he tries to smile back. Then he ducks away to the bathroom, where he tosses his hair in the mirror a few times before leaving. Dark streaks pour down the windows at either side of Clare’s green front door, and it’s warm and humid in a way that feels heavy; the kind of muggy, wet August night that feels like every inhale would mean breathing mosquitoes. 

Clare pads up behind Harry, rubbing her eyes with one hand and her belly with the other. “Come on. I’ll drive you home. It’s shitty out there.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry says. “You can sleep.”

“No, it’s fine,” Clare says. “I might stop by The Fortune City on my way back and get a Chinese. I want prawn crackers _so_ fucking badly.”

“Okay.” Harry nods. “Will my bike fit in your car?”

“You can put it on the rack on the roof, if you can reach,” Clare says. She stretches, and her hair’s coming out of the ponytail, and her eyelashes came unglued while she was asleep so her eyes look more human now, and Harry can remember suddenly why they started in the first place and how they ended up where they are now. Clare blinks sleepily and looks up at Harry as she smooths her hand back down over her stomach again, straightening her tank top where it rode up. “Don’t look at me like that, Hazz. It’s just a ride home.”

“I know,” Harry says. “I didn’t mean to look at you like anything. Not like – in a bad way, just like, in a nothing way. Or not – that sounded bad. I didn’t mean it bad.”

“Get your bike,” Clare says, and Harry tethers his bicycle to the roof of Clare’s car while she reapplies her makeup and does her hair for the ten-minute trip to the Chinese restaurant for takeaway.

In the car, “Turn My Swag On” plays through the sound of the shushing wiper blades and pattering of the rain, and Clare says carefully, “That girl who auditioned with this song was really good. That was on this week.”

“Yeah, Cher,” Harry says. “She is good. She like, rapped ‘Viva La Vida’ at bootcamp. It was weird, but I liked it.”

“Is she one of your girls? On that – the skit you told me about?”

Harry looks over to Clare where she’s peering intently through the windshield at a stoplight. “No. None of them got put through.”

“Okay,” Clare says. She shrugs one shoulder and Harry reaches over to pat her knee.

“Do you want me to get your Chinese with you? Or for you, even, since it’s raining?”

“No,” Clare says. “It’s fine. It’s warm out and you’ve got to pack, anyway. I hope you do win, you know. I’ll be voting for you and all.”

“Thank you.” Harry squeezes her knee gently, and they’re quiet the rest of the way up to Harry’s drive. He unclicks his seatbelt, leans over, and kisses Clare swiftly on the cheek. “Keep me posted, yeah? Just – even if nothing’s wrong, just send me a text every day with an update or whatever? And what the doctor says tomorrow?”

“I will,” Clare says. She gives his knee a little squeeze back and unclicks her own seatbelt so she can turn enough for Harry to give the baby a soft rub. “Take care of yourself. Have a safe flight and everything.”

“I will,” Harry echoes. He smiles at her and opens the door. The rain whooshes in and immediately his left side is soaked. “Talk to you later! Thanks for the ride!”

“See you, Hazz,” Clare says, waving, and Harry throws the door shut. He struggles a minute to unhook his bike from the roof in the gale, but eventually stumbles the rest of the way up his driveway with it, giving Clare a last wave. She backs down the driveway as he lets himself in the front door and shakes out his hair like a shaggy dog.

He heads upstairs to change into some dry clothes, pulling his phone from his pocket on the steps. He’s missed calls from both Liam and Louis, but he already knows what Liam wants – to practice – so he skips it and texts Louis back instead.

_whats up?_

_nurthing_ Louis texts back straight away. _you ?_

_just bin to see clare_ , Harry writes back, then sets the phone on his dresser to strip out of his sopping shirt. It starts ringing while he’s still trapped in the sleeves, and he curses as he stumbles over and hits the bedpost. Once he’s fully extricated himself, he answers on the last ring. “What?”

“Is the baby okay?” Louis asks in a rush.

“Yeah, fine,” Harry assures him, letting his wet trousers fall to the floor in a clump. “I just try to see her and the baby every week and missed a bunch ‘cause you were all out here. I wanted to say hello before I left again.”

“And it went okay?” Louis asks. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry says as he settles onto his bed. “I don’t really – no one else ever asks me. Even Mum stopped a few weeks ago once we’d settled the custody thing and I stopped getting the ulcers, basically. And Liam… well, you know Liam. He just doesn’t want to know.”

“Right,” Louis sighs. “He’ll come around eventually, I suspect.”

“He’s a robot.” Harry shrugs. “No, it went okay. Now that we’re not fighting we get on civilly enough. I wish I loved her, though. I think it’d be easier. But I just don’t. She keeps calling the baby an ‘it’ and talking about ‘well, come November,’ and I’m just like… she could pretend to care? I guess? That makes me sound horrible. Sorry.”

“Is she taking care of the baby, though?” Louis asked. “Like, she’s not out drinking and stuff with it?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Harry says. “Seems to be a lot of yogurt and sleeping.”

“Well, then she does care enough,” Louis says. “There are worse ways to be than apathetic. My mum’s a nurse, and she tells horror stories about what she sees in peds and ob-gyn with parents who _really_ don’t care.”

“No,” Harry says softly, thinking back to the fuzzy memories of his biological father. “I know. She’s not bad. I just – I love it, even though that’s maybe stupid.”

“Harry!” Louis laughs. “It’s _your baby_ , of course it’s not stupid if you love it! Weirdo.”

“Well, sorry,” Harry huffs, grinning. “I don’t exactly know what’s normal and not normal in being a semi-absentee teenage dad, do I?”

“You ought to read up on it,” Louis says loftily. “Call Michael Cera and ask about _Juno_ or something.”

“Very funny,” Harry says drolly. He sighs. “So where d’you think we’re going tomorrow?”

“Could be anywhere, couldn’t it?” Louis asks back, a course of excitement thrumming through his voice. “Last year Dannii took hers to that hotel in Dubai, didn’t she? With like the giant water park and the dolphins and all. But then Simon’s were just at Los Angeles, so it really could be anything. I just hope it’s not like, ‘surprise! You’re in Manchester!’”

Harry laughs. “Oh, that would be our luck. We’ll get Louis Walsh who hates me and we’ll be in Crewe.”

“Well, don’t think like that,” Louis says. “We’re gonna get Cheryl and she’ll be so impressed by us that she’ll just have to take all her clothes off and frolic in the ocean with us.”

“I thought you were gay,” Harry muses, then tenses. It’s not something they’ve talked about since Louis first mentioned it, and even that was hardly a discussion.

Louis answers him easily enough. “I am gay; I’m not stupid. I mean, I’ve got _eyes_ , haven’t I? Cheryl Cole is fucking hot!”

Harry snorts a startled laugh and feels his shoulders relax. He casts an eye around his little bedroom, the same he’d had since they had moved to Holmes Chapel from Evesham back in primary school. There were still pockmarks on the walls from hanging all of his kiddie posters over the years; Frankie Sandford and Caroline Flack and Busted. There was the scorch in the corner from copying Fire Ball from _Friends_ with Will and Haydn in Year 7 – his mum had been _angry_. There’s the nearly-empty bulletin board that used to teem with photos of White Eskimo and Will and Haydn and Nick; there are still photos of Ashley, but all old standards are gone. What’s left is a photo of Clare with the beginnings of her belly months ago and one Harry had tacked up as an afterthought just this morning. It’s a photo of One Direction. They look happy and excited and cool – they look like a boy band.

But they also look young and sloppy and scared.

“What if we don’t get put through?” Harry asks Louis quietly.

He hears rustling on the other end of the line like Louis’ going outside. A car beeps its way past a moment later and Harry wonders what Louis’ house looks like. He’s never been to Doncaster. It must not be raining there even though it is in Holmes Chapel.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Louis asks back.

“Sure.”

“I think Simon’s stacked the deck for you and Liam to win,” Louis confides. “I’ve been working it out in my head. ‘Cause my audition was shit, yeah? I know that. Or at least it wasn’t – I mean you and Liam and Zayn are really good. And Niall’s got so much like, presence or whatever; Niall’s got ‘the X-factor.’ But I’m… anyway, I worked it out. They upped the age for Boys, yeah, so they could pump in Matt Cardle and um, what’s his name – Marlon something. That way they could drop Liam and you out of Boys without people causing a fuss, right? And then they put you two in a group together with the rest of us and stacked the other Groups in our favor. I mean, really, like… I’m sorry, but Diva Fever fucking suck! Twem is the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life, literally, and Princes and Rogues look like paedos. Simon runs X-Factor; he knows who he wants to win. It’s Liam and you.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry scoffs despite the pleased twinge in the bottom of his belly. Simon had seemed enthusiastic at his original audition; that much was true. And they _had_ upped the age seemingly just to get Matt and Marlon into Boys… but there was no way. Simon’s whole industry depended on shows like the X-Factor and Harry was just… Harry. 

“Well, I think I’m brilliant,” Louis retorts. “I know I’m right.”

“I don’t think your audition was awful,” Harry says. “I mean, I wasn’t there, but you were good at bootcamp. You’re the best dancer of us all, except for Liam.”

“Fucking Liam,” Louis swears cheerfully.

“Fucking Liam,” Harry agrees. Smile lingering on his lips, Harry cast a glance through the window at the gray evening rain. Wherever they were headed, he hoped it would be sunny and bright. “I still have to pack. I should go.”

“Yeah, same,” Louis sighs. “It’s hard to know what to bring when you don’t know where you’re going.”

“Well, our all-white boy band gear. Boyz II Men costumes, rather.”

“Fucking Liam,” Louis swears again, slightly less fondly. “I can’t believe he rejected my idea.”

“ _We’re not the male Spice Girls_.”

“We could’ve been! You’re Posh, Zayn’s Ginger, Liam’s Sporty, Niall’s Baby, and I’m Scary. It would have worked!”

“I’m hanging up now.” Harry determinately holds in his laugh, fizzing and happy in the pit of his ribs. “See you tomorrow.”

Louis hums. “See you, Hazza.”

Harry sets his phone down on the nightstand and slings his legs out of bed with a crack of his spine and an _ooph_. He sets about packing his suitcase, Coldplay whispering just beneath the sound of the thunderstorm pummeling Holmes Chapel and thrashing at Harry’s windows; Harry packs both his swimming trunks and his ski jacket and hopes for the best.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	2. Chapter 2

Harry and Liam are left alone up in the boys’ room on their first evening. Liam unfolds all of their clothes and slides them onto hangers in the massive closet, organizing them by both owner and color. Harry shakes his head and calls up his mum on the phone.

“Hello, darling,” Anne greets him cheerfully. “How is the big, exciting celebrity house?”

“It’s good,” Harry assures her. “People are mostly quite nice.”

The X Factor House is a hodgepodge mess of quirky characters so big that even Harry, with all of his golden charisma and even shinier gold thong, feels dwarfed. Rebecca is beautiful and sad and Belle Amie are beautiful and aggressive; Mary talks filth and Storm talks bullshit, and Cher and Katie stay tough and fierce because they have to be. John and Wagner have a fight only hours after moving in, but Harry doesn’t mind it because it’s all he can do to bite back his _I’ve got a baby to win this for and more responsibility than you’ve got and I’m more of a man than you know_ when Wagner dismisses the boys and harrumphs, “I was a man before you were born.” FYD and Diva Fever are wary of the boys and stick to themselves, a little clique of judging eyes that follows One Direction around wherever they go, but Matt and Aiden are _amazing_ and Paije is a doll, and Nicolo – well, Harry doesn’t really talk to Nicolo.

“That’s good to hear,” Anne says. “Comforts my worried bones a bit. It’s a ‘mum-thing.’”

Harry smiles a bit even though she can’t see. “I know what you mean. Have you seen Clare around today?”

“I actually saw her at Mandeville’s,” Anne says. “I went in to get your last cheque and a loaf of bread and Clare was in getting a swiss roll.”

“Well, that’s good,” Harry says. “At least it wasn’t more yogurt. Did you say hello to Simon?”

“I did,” Anne confirms. “And to Clare. That baby’s got quite a strong kick.”

“I know,” Harry says, full-on grinning. He doesn’t notice Liam staring at him curiously from the closet door. “Future footie star, right?”

Anne laughs. “Ooph, if Baby is anything like you were, then I don’t envy Clare. You bruised up my ribs something terrible. I thought you’d be a footie star, too, but look at you now.”

“Two left feet,” Harry agrees. “Well, maybe Baby will be the opposite and get good coordination but a tin ear.”

“Oh, I hope not,” Anne says. “My favorite memories of you as a little one are all of you singing. Have you done any singing yet down in London?”

“No,” Harry says. “I mean, not officially. Just some knocking about with the boys, car songs and that. I think we’re set to start vocal lessons tomorrow, though.”

“That’s exciting!” Anne enthuses. “There was a photo of you boys in the paper today; I don’t know if you saw it. You all looked very handsome.”

“I did see it,” Harry says dryly, “And we just looked sweaty.”

Anne laughs. Liam laughs, too, privately, facing one of Niall’s sweatshirts the right way on its hanger as he hangs it in the closet. He’d seen the photo, too, and Harry was right: they did just look sweaty. 

“Alright, darling, I’m going to go,” Anne says. “Have a wonderful time on your adventure. We love you back home. I’ll see you at the first live show, wearing – ”

“Oh, please, don’t,” Harry begs.

“My ‘Harry’s Got the X Factor’ shirt,” Anne finishes smugly. Her voice softens. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“Love you, too,” Harry says, smiling. “Talk to you later.”

Harry hangs up the phone and tucks it back into his sweatshirt’s kangaroo pocket. He gives Liam a small smile.

“You can come out now and stop eavesdropping.”

Liam peeks his head out of the closet. “Oh! I wasn’t – I mean, I did hear, but – I didn’t mean to be – oh…”

“I was kidding, Liam,” Harry says. “You’re a bit jumpy.”

“I suppose I am a bit,” Liam admits sheepishly. “I just – I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot, you and I? And, you know, by extension, me and Louis, too, since you’re…” Liam tilts his head in a gesture meant to convey something that Harry isn’t sure he’s interpreting correctly.

“Me and Louis are – what?”

“You know.” Liam looks uncomfortable. He stares at Harry for a long moment and then his brown eyes go wide. “Oh! Are you – not? I just, I thought, you and he… well, you were… _cuddling_ at the bungalow, and he’s – you know.”

“Yeah, but I’m not,” says Harry, amused. “Haven’t you ever had a good cuddle between mates?”

Liam blinks. “No.”

“Well, you’re missing out,” Harry informs him. “Maybe someday, me and Louis can give you a good cuddle-down and you’ll know.”

“That’s alright,” Liam says, sounding unnerved. He actually backs up a few steps further away from Harry. “I’m – quite happy where I am. Only I’d like for you not to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Harry says earnestly. “I don’t know you enough to hate you. Hating’s an act of passion, you know.”

“Oh.” Liam blinks again. With his brown eyes so round and his eyelashes long as they are, the blinking is very cowish. “That, um, that isn’t quite my forte. Obviously. ‘Cause, you know.”

“Right,” Harry says, trying to bank a smile. “Why didn’t you go with the others to meet the dancers, then?”

The boys had all been fairly surprised to see some of the faces in the house and just as surprised not to see others. Harry thought for sure that Marlon was a lock, but Paije is here instead. The papers had bigged up Husstle, too, and they’d been so coolly confident at Simon’s house in Marbella – everyone thought for sure that Husstle would be going through, so Zayn had slept with Alannah in Spain because, as he said, _if we don’t get through, then cool, I took a chance, and if we do get through, she’ll be living in the same house and that’s sick_.

But now One Direction is through and Husstle isn’t. Zayn had just shrugged over it and disappeared somewhere with Aiden, Louis, and Niall to meet the dancers.

Liam blushes half a shade pink. “Oh, I’m just – didn’t want to, really. I’ll meet them in rehearsal. And I um, I also, um, fancy a bit – Cher, I mean. Fancy Cher a bit.”

“So does half of England,” Harry laughs. “Maybe more than half, as she’s quite tough. And yet feminine.”

“She is, that!” Liam agrees. “Um, only, well, I don’t think she likes me very much and I’ll have to try to – sort of win her over. I guess.”

“Why’d you think that?” Harry asks. 

He settles back on the bed and tucks his toes under the edge of the quilt. It’s been a long time since he had friends _speaking to him_ enough to just – tell him stupid gossip that he doesn’t even really care about. And he’s not even sure yet whether he really likes Liam, either, but there’s something so normal about listening to normal teenage romantic woes that don’t involve prenatal vitamins and something sort of endearing about the way Liam’s face lights up red as he considers his answer.

“Erm,” Liam hedges, “We sort of – I mean Cher and I, that’s the ‘we’ – at boot camp… we kissed a bit, I guess? In one of the hotel rooms? And um, but I asked her for her BBM or her number or whatever and um, she said I wasn’t her type because I’m too ‘puppy-like’?”

Harry presses his lips together and pokes at the corner of his eye with one index finger. “Did you hump her leg?”

Liam, to Harry’s further delight, furrows his brow and considers. “I guess – I mean, there was… there was _rubbing_ , but I thought it was mutual. Maybe it wasn’t. Oh, god, maybe I did hump her leg. Do you think that’s what she meant?”

Harry stretches his mouth around a laugh to swallow it back down.

“I dunno, mate,” Harry says with as straight a face as he can without bursting his spleen or something, “Could be. Why don’t we go find the other lads and see whether you might have more luck with someone else?”

Liam looks towards the pile of unhung clothing littering the floor.

Harry sighs and hops off the bed. He reaches out his hand towards Liam, but receives just a blank stare in return, so he stuffs his hand in his pocket. Apparently Louis and Niall are the cuddlers in this band; not so much the other two. 

“Let’s go,” he urges Liam again. “Lots of people to meet and things to do. Plus, I’m puckish. Come on, I’ll make you a toasted cheese. I make the best ones.”

“Oh,” Liam says. Harry thinks he sounds a bit startled every time he says ‘oh,’ but that could be because he mostly says it after Harry is nice to him. That’s a bit sad, really. “Okay.”

The others flit into the room clique by clique as Harry cooks, and this necessitates more and more cheese toasties. He ends up using an entire jar of Branston pickle and most of the brown sauce before he even has time to eat his own, perched on Louis’ lap since there aren’t enough chairs in the world, much less in the house, for the entire cast of the seventh X Factor.

Harry’s phone buzzes in his pocket just as Katie starts in on another story about recording in America.

_saw your mum at m’s today. baby kicked hello.. deffo perfers your mum t mine x_

Harry chuckles as he thumbs Clare back a simple response, _She told me….tell Baby I love them. shim? .x_

“Everything alright?” Louis murmurs in Harry’s ear. His breath tickles through Harry’s curls; he uses a hand on Harry’s hipbone to help slide him up more comfortably on Louis’ lap.

“Yeah,” Harry assures him, smiling. He knows there’s cheese stuck to his lip only after Louis points to it, smirking. Harry wipes his mouth with his hand and then his hand on Louis’ shirt. “Everything’s great.”

•••

The next week is so busy that they hardly have a chance to sit down again, let alone eat cheese toasties and tell stories, but it’s like something out of Harry’s wildest, wildest dreams and Louis’ craziest schemes and Zayn’s secret Coming of Age novels stashed in journals under his mattress with his porn and Niall’s fondest fantasies and Liam’s carefully crafted, carefully charted ambition.

They visit a recording studio and get to see all of the bits and bobs, and they get makeovers that are sort of terrible. Louis and Niall refer to Liam as ‘Lego Head Man’ for days until he manages to convince Jamie S. that honestly, this is _not_ what Bieber’s hair looks like, and anyway – he’s Liam Payne, not Justin Bieber. He should look like himself.

Harry’s just upset that his ears are showing with his cut. Louis tries to console him by telling him they’re just _quirky_.

It doesn’t work.

But they also all get their teeth whitened with lasers, and that’s quite fun. Not so much during, since it takes a while and the plastic makes their mouths itchy, but they spend a good half the night afterwards chewing mints with their mouths open in the bathroom in the dark, trying to see if their teeth glow. Zayn’s and Louis’ do, but not the rest.

And they get to sightsee. _In London_. Neither Zayn nor Niall had ever been before boot camp, and Harry had only been the once, with Gemma, so Liam hands everyone maps with his favorite bits circled. Louis throws all of the maps in a fountain they pass and they strike out on an adventure. The boys end up on high street, peeking into all of the shops and muttering about the things they’ll buy when they win the X Factor and are mega-successful, multimillionaire teenage popstars who jet to foreign countries for weekend holiday and tour the United States to sold-out crowds.

“That probably won’t happen,” Liam says sensibly as they all peer into Links of London. “Even most winners never crack America. Really just Leona.” He sighs. “I love Leona.”

“We know,” chorus the other four.

“But let us dream,” Niall says. “I want to tour America. I want to meet Justin Bieber and get his phone number and tour America and play Madison Square Garden.”

“Can y’imagine just being about to afford this stuff on a whim?” Zayn asks. He stares longingly at a chunky Fossil watch in a shop window. “Like, just to have designer stuff ‘cause you want it and it looks nice?”

“I mean, stuff is good,” Louis says, “But what about this kind of life? That’s what I want. To go down high street with my mates in the middle of the day instead of school. Or like, learn bungee jumping or something just because it’s available and I’m allowed.”

“I don’t think you really learn that,” Harry muses. “I think you just jump and try not to die.”

“Well,” Louis says, “Then the kind of life where all I have to do is jump and try not to die. I think it sounds quite nice.”

They pass by the Baby Gap, and Harry looks down at his shuffling feet. “I won’t have that anyway. I just want to win so I can feel like – there’s proof that I’m good at something, basically, and that I’m good enough to be able to be responsible for myself. And, you know.”

Louis slings an arm around Harry’s neck as Niall jumps up on Harry’s back and they all skitter sideways until a wall helps Harry catch his balance.

“Ow,” Harry says mildly.

“Get used to it, pops,” Niall snorts. “I’m hungry. Can we get pizza?”

And they can. So they do. The paparazzi even find them on their way out of the restaurant and it’s just crazy for Harry to think that apparently, suddenly, he’s famous enough to have paparazzi following him. Like people care that he just ate pizza. 

He tells his mum about it later, expecting – 

He’s not really sure what he’s expecting. A warning, maybe, to keep himself in line. Or an acknowledgement that the stuff he does that’s, well, more than getting pizza, people will be interested. People will care, and form opinions. He knows Louis thought about that, at least, because he was uncharacteristically quiet the rest of the afternoon at home and just went straight off to have a bath and drink some orange juice.

But instead Anne just laughs and applauds. “My little star! So will the big scoop in the Daily Fail tomorrow be that you didn’t eat your crusts?”

“Oh, Mum,” Harry sighs. “You know I eat my crusts. It’s how I got this hair.”

Clare checks in with him, too, just a text -- _all clear on the prenatal front x_.

It passes the same for the next few days: rehearsals in the morning and evening, newfound fame in the afternoon. Fretting at night, talking quietly to Louis. Harry isn’t sure why Louis pays so much attention to him when the other three boys are freer and shinier, but he’s grateful. It’s been a long time since he had a good best friend.

So all in all, Harry is happier than he’s been in months and things are going swimmingly. Until about three hours before the live show, when Harry is curled over the toilet in the back bathroom at Fountain Studios, throwing his guts up. 

He’s between rounds three and four when his phone rings, and his abdomen doesn’t jump when he rests a hand on it, so he risks answering.

“Hey, babes,” Clare greets him. “How are you holding up?”

“I can’t stop puking,” Harry groans, resting his head against the roll of loo paper. 

Clare laughs lightly. “Now you know how I felt. Karmic retribution is so, so sweet.”

Harry just grunts.

“Harry, you’re being a total twit.” Clare’s voice has softened and Harry takes a deep breath. “You know you’re great. And really talented. And I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true, because let’s be real here, if anyone could stand to be a little extra cruel to you for the hell of it, it’s me. But I don’t want to be cruel to you because that’s just how fucking stupid likable you are, and I can’t lie to you because you really are that good. So buck up and go give Britain a show.”

Harry exhales a shuddering breath. “But – ”

“Alright, fine, that approach didn’t work,” Clare muses. “Listen. Maybe you’ll go home tomorrow. Maybe the other boys are all terrible, or everyone will pull a Jedward and vote for Wagner; I don’t know. But Harry, this is your last moment to shine like this, if that happens, and you shouldn’t waste it being scared. This is such a far cry from playing Claudia- and Martin’s wedding, okay? This is _The X-Factor_ , H. You made it, and – look, you’ve got to do yourself proud, okay? You’ve got to – _Harry, you have to have this performance to point to for your baby and show it how good you really are_.”

Harry sucks in through his teeth. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Clare enthuses. “Good. Because I’ve told it that you’re gonna be on telly tonight and I don’t want to be embarrassed that we’re voting for you.”

“You did?” Harry asks quietly, “You talked to her—him? For me?”

“Yeah, well,” Clare sniffs, “It misses you or something. Won’t stop doing somersaults unless I’m playing it your music. Or Queen. It likes ‘Bicycle.’”

“ _Terrible_ music taste,” Harry scoffs, a grin spreading over his face. “Must get that from you.”

“Uh, this thing is not getting anything from me except nutrients,” Clare laughs. “All of its failings and quirks are down to how weird you are, Curly Sue.”

“I’m not that weird,” Harry argues. He manages to sit up on his knees and wipe his sweaty palms down the front of his jeans. “Who was it who thought it’d be a great idea to skinny dip in Brereton in March and nearly freeze to death? _That’s_ weird.”

“Yeah?” Clare says primly, “Well, whose idea was it to get extra chilies in his Mogline curry at Cinnamon Lounge just because the menu said ‘aphrodisiac’ on it and then had to go outside and lie face-down and shirtless in the snow because he was ‘too hot’?”

“Hey, if I’d been right and that worked, you’d’ve reaped the benefits, too,” Harry grumps, then starts laughing belly-deep at the memory. 

“Yeah, well,” Clare sighs. “Maybe it’s a good thing it didn’t.”

Harry sobers a bit. “Does it really matter? We’re still where we are.”

“ _Harry_ ,” Clare says gently. “‘Where you are’ is in London, about to perform for millions of people doing what you love and do best. If you’d – if I’d got pregnant sooner, I’d never have been able to convince you to audition. And it would all be different.” Cheekiness creeps into her voice. “Maybe we’d be stuck _married_. I had to get you out somehow, you know, and The X-Factor seemed a good enough way. You’d never have gone along with my wedding colors.”

“Oh, bugger off,” Harry snorts. “Bridezilla.”

“And proud,” says Clare. She pauses. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah,” Harry says softly, “Thanks.”

“You’re going to be amazing,” Clare promises a last time. “I know it.” She pauses for a long minute. “We know it.”

Harry sucks in a little breath again and he nods even though Clare can’t see. “Okay. I’ll be amazing. You’ll see.”

“That’s the Harry I know. Now go get your hair did and your eyelashes on, make up for that ugly face.”

“You know when you insult me, it just reflects poorly on you.”

Clare sighs and Harry can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “I’m hanging up now. Gotta juice up my phone to vote One Direction later.”

“Thank you,” Harry says again. “Bye. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Clare agrees. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

Harry stands and splashes some water on his face. He rinses out his sour mouth and pats down his pockets for a stick of gum, ignoring Liam’s ‘no sugar’ edict. When he opens the bathroom door, Louis is sat against the opposite wall, fiddling with his phone.

He looks up. “Y’alright?”

Harry nods. “Yeah, I’m good. Got a bit sick; you know. Nerves and that. But basically I’m fine now.”

Louis nods and pushes himself up to his feet. He wants say, _I heard you laughing; was that Clare you were talking to?_ and _would you have married her? Really? Would you really have just married her and let that be that, and never got this, us, One Direction, everything?_

But he doesn’t. Instead, Louis just slings his arm around Harry’s sloping shoulders and says, “You smell like the back alley of a bar, minus alcohol. And sort of plus Big Red; gimme.” Harry hands over a stick of gum and Louis tosses the foil over his shoulder. He grins at Harry as he chews open-mouthed, smacking the gum like a cow. “You ready for the show tonight?”

Harry takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and nods. “Yeah. Let’s _Viva La Vida_.”

Louis chucks the side of his head against Harry’s temple. “Let’s go get beautiful. I’m already beautiful, but I’ll keep you company.”

Harry plops himself right down in Christina’s chair as soon as they reach makeup, leaving Louis to hop onto the countertop and twiddle his thumbs and swing his ankles while he waits his turn. He doesn’t really mind, though – Katie’s just blown through the hair department and left all kinds of strange things strewn about for Louis to play with (or, well, not _for Louis to play with_ , but he’s sure as hell going to). He starts building a fairly elaborate fantasy movie set out of her plasterpaste birds and wires and some sheets of plastic that aren’t really shaped like anything. He thinks the plot has something to do with two rebel groups of pirate birds trying to steal each other’s pearls, and he tells Harry so while Christina slathers Harry’s face in matte solution and powder foundation.

“You could use that visor thing as a boat,” Harry points out, and Louis grins. His friends back home had started to grow out of going along with his schemes and stories. 

Maybe it’s just that Harry is younger and _wouldn’t_ have grown out of Louis’ mindset yet, but something that Louis has been trying to ignore twists in the base of his stomach and really, he tries not to hope that’s not all it is.

“That is a good eye, young Harold,” Louis hums. He resets the scene using the visor and grins at Harry. 

Christina finishes rolling something on beneath Harry’s eyes, and Harry smiles at Louis, still staring at the ceiling. When he looks back and shakes out his hair, mumbling immediate apologies to Christina after if it’s messed up his makeup, Louis is startled to notice just how different Harry looks without dark circles beneath his eyes. He’d known that Harry was shouldering a lot of weight, but suddenly Louis thinks Hazz looks a year younger – or maybe that normally, Harry just looked so much older and more brittle than sixteen. 

But Harry just takes a deep breath and _glows_ a bit, honestly, Louis thinks, and graciously gestures Louis into the makeup chair for his own primping.

“Are you gonna go find the others?” Louis asks as he settles into the seat.

Harry’s green eyes glint mischievously. “No. I’m gonna wreck a bird pirate ship in a glorious battle such as the high skies have never seen.”

“High skies?”

“It’s a _bird_ pirate ship,” Harry says, as though Louis is a bit slow. “They sail the seven skies, not the seven seas. Bird pirates on the ocean is just silly.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Louis acquiesces quickly. “Don’t know what I was thinking. Sorry.”

Harry grins at Louis with both dimples and all of his white teeth showing. 

He reaches out with both hands – quick as a flash – and pinches Louis’ sides hard.

“ _Curly-haired little fucker_!”

Christina tosses half a pack of eyeshadow brushes at Harry’s forehead and they bounce off onto the floor with a smattering plastic tinkle. “Boys!” 

Harry just smiles angelically and hops up onto the countertop, demolishing ships and plasterpaste birds in a single fell swoop. Moments later, Katie comes tearing through the makeup room, shrieking about a helmet, and snatches the pink plastic visor out of Harry’s hands. She smacks him on the head with it as she runs back out of the room again, leaving a shower of hairpins and a cloud of Aquanet in her wake.

Harry looks over to Louis with huge kitten eyes. “Girls keep hitting me.”

“It’s karma,” Louis says knowingly, smirking.

And immediately regrets it. Harry’s eyes shutter down, just a bit, just _enough_ , and he bites his lip as he nods. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It might well be.”

He settles back against the mirrors and his hands autopilot towards his phone.

“I meant ‘cause you’re prettier than them,” Louis blurts. “All that naturally curly hair and smooth, hairless, shapely legs – ”

“Fuck off,” Harry groans, but his eyes are alight again – and that’s really all that matters to Louis in this moment.

The next night, there’s nothing more they can do. It’s out of their hands, out of the judges’ hands even, and Harry doesn’t like being out of control – almost as much as Liam hates it. Nothing in his life is in his own control right now, and he feels like he’s spiraling, falling up and then down and turning topsy-turvy heels over head and he just wants to feel… grounded. 

They’re waiting in the wings for the lights to go down and the music to come up for “Rhythm of the Night.” They’re standing next to F.Y.D., trying to shake out their own nerves while the older boys shake themselves all about warming up for the dance moves _no one else is going to do_ , and on impulse, Louis reaches blindly for Harry’s hand in the dark and holds it, squeezing tightly.

Harry’s palm is sweaty and hot, but his hand isn’t shaking. That’s all Louis wanted. Something to ground him. On his other side, Niall gropes out for Louis’ other hand and grabs it, clutching tight with both hands pulled up to the warm peachfuzz beneath his chin, and Louis can’t help smiling a little and chucking Niall’s ticklish spot with the crook of his thumb.

Niall wriggles and hisses, _geroff, Lou, jesus_.

They can hear Zayn exhale one almost reluctant, started chuckle under his breath and it’s like the tension’s broken. Niall lets one of his hands loose from Louis’ and reaches behind him to offer a hand to Liam. Zayn grabs onto Liam’s other hand and they wait in the dark, breathing in tandem, all connected while they wait for the most important night of their lives to really start.

Harry thinks it’s wonderful.

And when the jaunty whistling backup track starts, for that split second before the Girls start singing and the show begins, Harry lets himself feel like _Harry Styles_ again without worrying about the future beyond tonight’s performance and tomorrow’s results show, and Louis squeezes his hand like he can feel the weight flying out of Harry’s soul.

They disentangle their fingers just in time for the doors to open, and then they’re bounding down the steps, looking out into the bright lights. Somewhere out in the crowd, their families are waiting for them, and outside, dotted across the country – and beyond, for uncles in Germany and aunts in New York and stray cousins abroad in Spain and Colorado –are all of the rest of the people who love them. And that’s who Harry sings for, just in case he never gets this chance again. He looks out into the black of the audience and the blinding white of the lights and cameras and just wants to prove that he’s meant for his life. _Won’t you teach me how to love and learn; there’ll be nothing left for me to yearn._

•••

They all change a little when they make it through to the next week. It still feels absurd that the paparazzi care that Harry and Louis and Niall go to Sainsbury’s – they’re just Harry and Louis and Niall! It’s just Sainsbury’s! – but _at least now_ , Louis jokes, _there’s a permanent record of your face when you realized it wasn’t just yogurt that Clare was eating, it was yogurt specially formulated to help ladies poo_.

And there is such a record. It’s in the newspaper, even, and Harry is both abashed and gleeful when he tells Clare that he knows her secret.

She hangs up on him and won’t answer his calls or texts for the rest of the night.

Louis cheers Harry by making him a ‘magic’ breakfast sandwich with both bacon and cut-up sausages and a runny egg and brown sauce. It does sort of help, but Harry thinks that Louis’ a bit more magic than the sandwich. He’s an absolutely ridiculous person, but now that they’re through to the next week, he seems to bloom. He’s sillier in the house and Harry tries hard not to think the word ‘flamboyant’ but it does slip through sometimes, like when Louis steals one of Katie’s feather headdresses and treats the boys and Aiden and Matt to a performance of Highlights from _Grease_ , As Sung By Louis Tomlinson. Or when he buys a silk dressing gown – an actual dressing gown, like Hugh Hefner’s – and wears that around the boys’ room as he leaves apple cores and pants everywhere. 

Harry’s changed too, he thinks. He’s letting himself enjoy the experience now that he feels like they’ll actually _get_ the experience, and he’s got another three weeks before the baby will be born – he can stand not to worry for three weeks. He keeps up reading _The New Dad’s Survival Guide_ , which Robin had bequeathed to him in May by throwing it at the foot of Harry’s bed and saying, “Well, I failed, so you ought to get past chapter eight and do better.”

He’d been joking, of course, and straightaway ruffled Harry’s hair and taken him to The Old Red Lion for nachos and a chicken roast and Eton mess, just as he always had. Harry told him, quite thickly, that he’d been the best dad he knew, and Robin blustered a bit and stole a bit of Harry’s whipped cream.

Harry wants to be a good father. His first dad, his biological dad, had been – well, there’s good reason that Harry doesn’t see him and he generally thinks _good riddance_. He and Louis have that a bit in common, although it’s different since Louis had never actually known his own terrible father. Harry isn’t really sure what a good dad is, but he knows what a bad one is and he can say quite assuredly that he will _never_ be that. So all that’s left is to figure out what makes a good dad good, and he thinks three more weeks – well, he can find it in that time. Easy.

In Harry’s public life, the one that more than just Louis, Liam, Niall, and Zayn know about here in London, they’re rehearsing for the second live show. They also have to sing “Telephone” for the group song, and Niall very much thinks it’s the stupidest thing he’s ever had to do in his life and Harry laughs _every_ time they rehearse because really, if he’s learned one thing about Niall, it’s that Niall cannot hide his emotions on his face. They’re also rehearsing “My Life Would Suck Without You,” and Harry has a solo. He’s quite excited about it.

They’re all nervous heading into the day of the second show’s dress rehearsals at Fountain, though, because Niall is so sick he can hardly bear to stand up. He caught some kind of throat bug in the house – Mary and Cher have it, too – and Liam made him sleep in FYD’s abandoned room in quarantine.

Actually, Liam had said “grenadine,” but they knew what he meant.

They’ve all got to work extra-hard to make up for the loss of Niall’s high notes, though, and that’s why Louis is so surprised when Harry is skittish for most of their rehearsal day. He’s so quiet that it takes Louis a while to realize that Harry’s _left_ \-- he isn’t sitting in the audience with Louis, watching the backup dancers rehearse anymore at all.

Louis frowns and slips out of the performance hall, thunking his feet against the hollow metal stairs as he spirals down into the performers’ area on a search for Harry.

_feeling a bit off.. going to leighton for a check x_

“Harry?” Louis asks, putting a hand on Harry’s knee. Harry jumps. “You okay?”

“I don’t know,” Harry hedges tentatively. “A few hours ago Clare said she was ‘feeling off’ and went to hospital and I haven’t heard anything.”

“Do you want some tea?” Louis asks, ruffling through Harry’s hair. 

“Sure,” Harry says, already fiddling with his phone again.

Louis gives Harry’s curls a tug as he wedges behind the lad’s chair to head into the small kitchen area of the greenroom to make some teas. He finds Niall, miserable and curled into a little ball, asleep beneath the counter – to each his own – and Zayn and Liam on the sofa. Zayn is playing with his DS, but Liam has his headphones in and is reading through the lyrics sheet for their song over and over. He looks up when Louis comes in and gives him a nod.

Liam takes out one of his earbuds. “Where have you been?”

“Looking for Harry,” Louis says. “Um – it may be nothing, but Clare’s poorly, so. Just so you know.”

Liam frowns. “Like a cold?”

“She’s at hospital,” Louis says, plugging in the kettle. “That’s all I know. Do you want a tea?”

“Sure,” Liam says. “Six sugars, please, and milk.”

“Right,” Louis says. He’d memorized all of the boys’ tea preferences weeks ago. He is, if nothing else, a man who knows his tea. He puts half-milk in his and leaves Harry’s tea black and naked before handing Liam his own Styrofoam cup. He squeezes around behind the sofa and makes his way to the hallway between the greenroom and studio – 

And finds Harry on his knees in the corner of the hall, head in a wastebasket, vomiting violently. 

“Oh, shit,” Louis whispers. He dumps the teas into a potted plant and rushes over to Harry’s side, gently but urgently running a hand over Harry’s ribs. “H, what’s happened? Are you alright?”

Harry keeps retching and blindly thrusts his phone towards Louis.

_Sweetheart, the baby is coming. Clare’s water broke this morning so they need to help the baby get born soon to prevent infection. I’m with clare at Leighton. The doctors have given clare some medications to help her and help the baby make things easier. We all send love xx_

Louis reads the message three times and blinks dumbly for a moment, stroking Harry’s back absently as the younger boy heaves and heaves. 

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” Louis breathes, and rakes his fingers through Harry’s sweaty curls. “It’ll be okay.”

“It’s too early!” Harry croaks, and the panic in his voice is at a fever pitch. “It’s too early! There’s three weeks left! It’s too early! They have to put it back in!”

“Well, they can’t put it back in,” Louis soothes gently. “You saw what your mum said, they need to keep the baby healthy and get it out.”

“But it’s too small!” Harry’s voice cracks on every word. “I read it! This morning, I read – in my book – it’s too small! Its bones are all soft and it’s gonna be a conehead and it’s not got good skin or eyes or – it’s the size of only a pineapple! It’s too small; it’s not ready!”

“Well, it’s coming anyway,” Louis says. “So it must be, eh? It just wants to meet you.”

“Oh, don’t patronize me,” Harry growls. “It might die, Louis. It’s too small.”

“It’s really close to not being too small,” Louis offers hopefully. “It’s just what, three weeks? It’ll be okay, Harry, really.”

“No, no, no, nononono,” Harry mutters, and loses it completely. He drops his head back into the wastebasket and just keeps throwing up.

“Harry,” Louis ventures softly, “My mum’s a midwife. D’you want me to call her to talk you through things?”

Harry just keeps mumbling into the wastebasket, but he’s shaking by now and Louis worries that _he_ needs hospital, too, so he takes a few steps away and dials Jay.

“Hi, darling! Don’t you have dress rehearsal now?”

“Mum,” Louis half-whispers. “Harry’s baby is being born, and he’s quite – well, he’s panicked, and I don’t know how to help.”

“Oh, the poor duck,” Jay sighs. “It’s a bit premature, isn’t it?”

“I think he said three weeks?” Louis whispers. He hesitates. “I told him it would be okay. It will, won’t it? He wants it so badly. He really loves it.”

“It’ll probably be just fine, darling,” Jay says. “Three weeks is a bit early for me to say anything for sure, and I’m not there. Is Anne with Clare at the hospital?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Louis says. He cranes his neck around to where Harry is curled in a shaky ball in the corner. “Harry’s _really_ a mess, Mum. I need _something_ to tell him.”

“Well, they’re probably either going to induce labor or give Clare an emergency C-section. Do you know which?”

“No, he just showed me a text from his mum,” Louis says. “Just that there were medications to make it easier for her and the baby?”

“Okay, that’s good, then, right? No emergency surgery? He should be able to relax knowing that,” Jay says encouragingly. “So they’ve probably given Clare some corticosteroids to help the baby’s lungs when it comes, and then it’s just labor as usual.”

“How long does that take?” Louis asks, glancing over at Harry again. “I don’t think Harry can stand this much longer. He’s like, dying, Mum.”

“Well, tell him to calm his tits,” Jay says. “I’m serious. It’s not helping anyone if he ends up in hospital, too.”

Louis can’t help laughing. “Okay. I’ll give that a try.”

“If he wants to call me later and hear it for himself, he can,” Jay says. “I mean the actually medical stuff, not the tits-calming. Although I’d tell him that, too.”

“I love you,” Louis says, honest and unabashed. “Thanks.”

“I love you, too, my boo bear,” Jay says. “Keep me posted, please.”

“I will. I’ll talk to you later.”

Harry is shaking so violently when Louis walks back over and wraps himself around the younger boy’s shoulders that Louis wonders whether Harry may have gone into shock. 

“Hey, Hazzhead,” Louis soothes, “I talked to my mum. She said that it’s a really good sign that they’re not doing an emergency C-section, okay? The baby is healthy, then, and so is Clare, and she’s just going to be having the baby normal. That’s _good_ , Harry, I promise. Harry, you’re gonna be a _dad_ – oh, there’s the vomit again,” Louis says helplessly, rubbing Harry’s shoulders. “How do you even have anything left to come up?”

“I think it’s my actual guts coming up now,” Harry groans. “Louis, I can’t be a dad! I’m not ready!”

“Well, you only had three weeks anyway,” Louis says pragmatically. “That’s not much difference for you.”

“But it was what I planned for! This messes up the plan! The plan, Louis!”

“Your plan was to have a kid in the middle of being on the X-Factor when you were sixteen?”

“No,” Harry groans, miserable and cross. “But you know what I – once the plan was _keep the baby_ then the plan was _early November_. What if it’s got real problems, Lou? Like, bad ones that I can’t help! I don’t know what to do! I’m a _kid_ , I’m a fucking _kid_!”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees, and gives Harry a cuddle. “You are. But now you’re a kid with a kid. Or well you will be in a few hours, probably.”

Harry gags again and leans over the wastebasket. Louis sighs and kisses the top of Harry’s head, ruffling up his greasy hair again. “I’m gonna go tell the boys, okay? I’ll be right back. Do you want anything? Need anything?”

“Mouthwash,” Harry groans.

“Right,” Louis says. “Good call.”

Louis rushes back into the greenroom and crawls under the counter to shake poor Niall awake, then closes Zayn’s DS and pulls out Liam’s earbuds.

“The fuck, man?” Zayn grumps.

“Harry’s baby is coming,” Louis says simply. “Like, right now. It’s being born. Right now.”

“Does’e have to go home?” Niall asks, then starts to cough. He flops over beneath the counter so that he’s curled up on his other side, using someone’s backpack as a pillow.

“I don’t know,” Louis says. “I don’t think he plans to. But he’s really sick right now and I don’t think he can sing.”

“Well, I’d think not,” Zayn says. “I’d be shitting myself.”

“We’re gonna have to step up, is all I’m saying, really,” Louis continues. “We’re gonna have to sing his parts.”

“Well, I’d do, but I can’t,” Niall says regretfully, yawning. “I can’t barely even sing me own parts.”

“I’ll do it,” Liam says. “I know his words.”

“Okay,” Louis says. He doesn’t argue with Liam about singing. “Just – be kind to him, today, okay? And… well, it’s a bit early. So it should be fine, but just in case, you know, stay positive?”

“How early?” Liam asks. “Just two weeks, isn’t it?”

Louis shakes his head. “Three.”

“I was born three weeks early,” Liam says. “I could talk to him.”

“Can you be _kind_?” Louis asks, his eyes narrowing at Liam.

“Yes,” Liam says earnestly. “I know he’s scared. I’d be scared.”

“Okay,” Louis says and nods. “Why don’t you do that; Niall, I’m gonna make you some lemon-honey tea for that throat, and Zayn… you can figure out what we’re gonna tell Savan and the crew?”

“Why me?” Zayn asks, flabbergasted.

“Because this is a five-man operation and you’re the fifth man,” Louis says. “Now, think! And Liam, go. Niall… don’t die.”

Liam is hesitant and quiet as he approaches Harry, huddled in the corner and staring intently at his phone. Liam crouches down beside him and touches Harry’s shoulder gently. “Hey.”

“It’s too early,” Harry says, sounding numb. “Why hasn’t my mum called?”

“I don’t know,” Liam says. “I was born three weeks early. And I’m okay.”

Harry’s eyes don’t leave his phone, but he does tilt his head in Liam’s direction. He looks _awful_ , Liam thinks. His curls are matted down with sweat and his eyes are huge and white-rimmed and wild, and you can practically see the stench coming off him from all the sick. “Yeah?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, I am now,” Liam says. “Technically, I was born dead – ” Harry _does_ look at Liam again and his face goes green so quickly that Liam rushes to add, “But they brought me ‘round right away! And now I’m quite well.”

“You’ve got one kidney!” Harry cries, sounding hysterical again. “You’re missing a whole vital organ!”

“Well, technically I’m not missing it,” Liam assures him. “It just doesn’t work.”

When Louis emerges from the greenroom with Niall slung over his back like a sad, sick little backpack, and Zayn rushes down the hall from the other side to inform them that Savan said they can skip out of rehearsal for the day as long as they’re willing to do soundcheck at seven the next morning, they find Harry curled up in a catatonic ball on the floor while Liam pats his side, brows and lips pulled toward each other until he looks a bit like a concerned corgi.

Louis sighs, rubs his eyes, and hands Niall over to Zayn so he can help Harry back to the van home.

Not home – the X-Factor House. Funny how it feels like home already, with Harry and the boys. Louis pats Harry’s hair and kicks his bum as he trundles off to shower away all the sick. Zayn tucks Niall into bed and pets his hair. Liam follows Louis into the kitchen to make a platter of chicken sandwiches and a big pot of tea, and then all five boys bunker down in their room to wait out the night.

Louis feels a bit bad for thinking it’s sort of nice.

•••

It’s just shy of midnight, and the boys are hovering around Harry – Niall’s plunked himself down practically in his lap to give him a good cuddle, with the added bonus of Harry’s warmth; Louis is sliding him a fresh cup of tea; Zayn’s sitting on the floor at Harry’s feet with a hand on Harry’s ankle, and even Liam is combing through Harry’s curls with his fingers pensively, setting them back just so – when his phone rings.

“Hullo?” Harry answers, croaking through a dry throat. He coughs. “Hello?”

“It’s a girl, Harry,” Anne gushes on the other end, “Can you hear her crying, sweetheart? She’s fine!”

Harry drops the phone and covers his mouth with both shaky hands. Louis grabs it before it hits Harry’s lap and says, “I’m putting you on speaker, Ms. Cox.”

“Hello boys!” Anne laughs. “It’s a girl!”

The One Direction room in the X Factor house explodes. Niall jumps out of Harry’s lap and bounces clear over to his own bunk across the way while Louis ends up _in_ Harry’s lap, whooping and hugging him; Liam looks to the ceiling and grins and then gives Harry a careful hug, saying _congratulations_ and Zayn starts applauding and nodding and shakes Harry’s leg by the knee.

And Harry sits in the middle of the knot, hands over his face, crying.

“Did Clare name her?” Louis calls into the phone, still squeezing Harry’s shoulders tight.

“She’s called her ‘Emily,’” Anne says, “Just over two kilos and 36 centimeters. She’s bald as a cueball.”

“Is – can I see a picture?” Harry whispered, then coughed and asked again, a bit louder. “And is Clare okay?”

“Yes, of course, just give me a moment and I’ll send one right over,” Anne says, “And Clare is fine. She’s asleep now; it was a long, difficult day.”

“That’s good,” Harry says, “That she’s okay, I mean.”

“Okay, darling, I’m sending you the photo now,” Anne says. An incredulous laugh rings from her. “She’s so beautiful, Harry! And she looks so much like you!”

Harry just nods dumbly even though his mother can’t see it.

Liam blinks owlishly at Harry for a moment and then lays pensive hands on Niall- and Louis’ shoulders. “Let’s give him a moment, boys,” he says. “Let him see her the first time by himself. He can show us when he’s ready.”

“But I want to see the baby!” Niall whines, looking stricken.

“Later, Nialler,” Louis assuages him and puts an arm around Niall’s shoulders. “Let’s you and me get to the kitchen and take all the alcohol we can find and also, all the ice cream.”

“We can’t drink!” Liam pipes up, clipping along at the other boys’ heels. “We’ve got a show tomorrow!”

“Oh, right. Damn,” Louis swears. “Well, we’ll get all the ice cream and juice boxes then, alright?”

Zayn pats Harry’s knee as he shuffles up to follow along. “Cheers, Harry,” he says. “Congrats and that.”

The door snicks shut behind Zayn and Harry can feel his hands trembling. He wipes at his eyes and nose with the corner of his blankets and exhales, whistling through his teeth, breath cold and shaking and _relieved_ and terrified. Fingers numb, palms sweaty, he slides the lock on his phone and opens his mother’s message.

 _She’s tiny_. She’s so much smaller than Harry had thought she would be, and he guesses that makes sense since she’s nearly a month early, but she’s smaller even than the newest babies he’s seen before. Her skin is quite red and she’s skinny for a baby, but she’s got smooth skin and ten fingers and ten toes and two lips and a nose and two huge eyes screwed shut tight. There’s the tiniest little striped hat on her round peach head, and her ears are so small that it makes Harry choke up a bit because she doesn’t seem like she could be a _person_ , really. She’s tiny in her swaddling clothes in the plastic bassinet and it’s so impersonal, just a pink blanket and plastic walls and this little baby.

Harry’s heart hurts. 

The photo disappears as a call rings through but he ignores his mum, bringing the picture back up on the screen. He calls her back on Louis’ phone, still staring at tiny, bitty Emily.

“Isn’t she beautiful, sweetheart?” Anne asks. “She looks like you with those big eyes.”

“She looks breakable,” is what comes out of Harry’s mouth. 

“Well, she is quite breakable,” Anne says. “Babies are very precious. Very fragile.” She lets Harry think in his silence for a long minute that stretches into two and three. “Are you alright, Harry? I know this is – a very strange, very big moment for you.”

“I hate the name ‘Emily,’” Harry mumbles. “But I feel like… you know, it’s what Clare wants. That’s fair.”

“Well, you could always give her a nickname,” Anne suggests gently. “Or go by her middle name, which Clare was kind enough to make Anne. She could be Annie.”

“No, I think – well, I could learn to live with Emily,” Harry says. He swallows and his eyes well up again. “Mum? Can you – can you hold her? Are you allowed? It’s just that – well, she looks so sad and cold in the bassinet.”

While she’s exhausted and elated by her granddaughter, Anne is heartbroken for her son to be gone. She swallows and says, very quietly, “I can hold her for a while.”

Harry sniffs. “I love you, Mum.”

“I love you, too, Harry.”

“Mum?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“Can you – can you tell her, Emily, can you tell her that I love her? Can you tell her about me, and maybe – can you show her my picture or like, play her my voice or something? Just… never mind. Tell her that I love her and give Clare my best?”

“Of course I will, darling,” Anne promises. “The first thing I ever said to her was that you love her very much.”

Harry cries again and Anne murmurs again that she loves him and will call in the morning and to _sleep well, darling, you have a nation to delight and a daughter to make proud_.

A few beats later, just as Harry is finally beginning to catch his breath, Niall sticks his head around the door. “Can we come in yet? Only we’re sitting in the hall and now there’s ice cream all over the floor. Also, I want to see the baby.”

Harry hiccups a wet laugh. “Yeah, come in, Nialler. And I hope you brought me chocolate.”

“Yeah,” Niall confirms, bounding into the room. He hugs Harry again tight around the shoulders and ruffles up Harry’s curls. “I’m so happy for you, mate. I know you’re gonna be the world’s best dad. I just know it.”

“Thanks,” Harry whispers into Niall’s shoulder, hugging him back. 

Louis follows, balancing two bowls of ice cream made lopsided with the amount of whipped cream and chocolate sauce and chopped-up Daim bar sprinkled over their tops. He prods Niall’s arse with his foot and demands, “Geroff, Nialler; it’s my turn to hug the Harry.”

Niall grumbles and shifts to the side to pick up his spoon again, digging into his dish. When he speaks, a run of ice cream dribbles out of his mouth. “I want to see the baby!”

“Give him a minute, Niall,” Liam chastises, carrying in his own bowl and a gigantic bottle of champagne.

“I thought you said we couldn’t drink?” Harry asks. 

“Well,” Liam says, smiling a bit sheepishly. “One bottle between four won’t hurt us. But no more!”

Harry smiles at him with his bottom lip caught between his teeth as Zayn uncorks the champagne and pours it into four tea mugs, sloshing wine all over the nightstand between the cups as he tries to fill them in one swift pour like some kind of Vegas bartender. Louis takes the opportunity to hug Harry warm and tight and solid, comforting.

“Good going, mate,” he murmurs into Harry’s ear. “Are you alright?”

“I’m good,” Harry whispers back. He gives Louis an extra squeeze and Louis rumble-hums happily before pecking him on the cheek.

“Cheers,” Louis toasts and takes two mugs of champagne from Zayn. He hands one to Harry and they clink the porcelain together; Louis tumbles off to the side so Harry can toast all the boys. They drink their mugs of champagne – “Tastes worse from mugs,” is Zayn’s diagnosis – and eat their ice cream until they’re all lying on the floor. Harry’s rested his head on Louis’ hip and the bone digs into the back of his skull, but it’s alright. He’s got Niall’s heavy noggin weighing down his own full belly anyway.

But then Niall lifts his head and cranes his neck around to look Harry in the face and says, indignantly, “Hey! I still haven’t seen the baby!”

“Okay,” Harry says. “If any of you says anything _smart_ , I _will_ punch you in the face. She’s perfect.”

“We’re not gonna make fun of a baby,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “Who’d do that even? Honestly, Hazz.”

“No, we’re gonna make fun of you,” Louis says cheerfully. “It’s your defective genes.”

Harry socks him in the spleen and pulls up the photo while Louis lolls about, moaning. Harry hovers protectively as Niall snatches the phone.

“She’s quite tiny, ain’t she?” he asks. “Look at her little head! It’s so wee!”

“So she’s called Emily?” Zayn takes the phone next and his brown eyes flick around the image curiously, almost as though he’s looking for some sort of Photoshop seam. 

“Yeah.” Harry watches the phone as it passes to Liam next. “I hate the name ‘Emily,’ though. I’ll keep it ‘cause Clare picked it out and that’s fair, but my mum thinks I should give her a nickname I like better. She thought I should go by the middle name.”

“What is the middle?” 

“Anne,” Harry snorts. “That’s why Mum likes it.”

“I quite like ‘Emily,’” Liam says mildly. “I think it’s a nice name.”

“It’d be if she weren’t named after Emily Witt, who’s about the worst person I know,” Harry says dryly. “What’s a good nickname for ‘Emily’ though besides ‘Em,’ and that’s just… half of Emily.”

“Millie,” Louis suggests. He’s got a tiny, sweet smile on his face as he looks down at the picture of Harry’s baby. “She looks like a Millie, doesn’t she? Or a Sophie, but you can’t get ‘Sophie’ out of ‘Emily’ so easily.”

“Millie,” Harry tries out, feeling the weight of it on his tongue. He takes back the photo and cleans the ice cream smudges off his screen with the bottom of his t-shirt. He looks down at his baby, swaddled in pink and all tiny except her eyes, the size of the moon. “Millie. I like it, I think. I like ‘Millie.’”

Louis grins and raises his nearly-empty champagne mug. “To Millie Anne Styles, then.”

Harry grins until he thinks his face might split. “To Millie Anne Styles.”

“And to you, Harry,” Niall adds, giving him a flushed, happy smile. “ _Go maire sibh bhur saol nua_.”

Harry tilts his head, eyes smiling.

Niall ruffles his hair and nods to the photo of tiny baby Millie still glowing on Harry’s iPhone. “May you enjoy your new life.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	3. Chapter 3

They all wake up with fuzzy mouths and headaches the next morning. Niall somehow fell asleep curled up behind the closet door, and Liam and Zayn both blush and stammer when Louis throws his pillow at the bed they wake up sharing. Once Liam has scampered off to make breakfast with Niall and Zayn’s slumped off to the shower, Louis leans down over the side of his bunk and pokes Harry’s ankle.

“Wake up, daddy-o!” he chirrups. “Time to face the day!”

“‘M up,” Harry grunts unconvincingly. Louis snorts, so Harry insists, “No, I’m – I am. Was talking to Mum. On the textophone. Telephone. Texting.”

“Is everything all right?” Louis asks. He flops down out of his bunk and lands on Harry’s with enough force to almost bounce the other boy out of bed and onto the floor.

“Yeah,” Harry yawns. “They’ve gotta keep Emily for like today and tomorrow in the baby ICU to watch her breathing since she was born so early, but my mum says that Millie’s been crying and all, which means she’s fine.”

“Babies are weird,” Louis says. “That crying means they’re fine.”

“I know,” Harry says. He yawns again, a huge one that shrugs his shoulders up to his ears and makes his toes curl against Louis’ ankle. “Wish she could just say, ‘I’m quite well, thanks. Let’s go to London and see Harry.’”

“And Louis!” He grins and shakes Harry’s ankle again. “C’mon, get up. I require feeding.”

Harry grumbles and cracks his back, _one two three four_ , as he sits up and swings his legs out of the bed. “Yeah, like I need _another_ baby to feed. You should be making breakfast for me.”

“I guess that’s true,” Louis admits. “Come along, then, and I will make you a sandwich. Or see if I’m allowed to take you to Starbucks or Sainsbury’s or summat, if you want. Otherwise Liam will make us live off those throat-friendly olive oil smoothie things all day.”

“I don’t want to do that,” Harry says, eyes wide. He grabs Louis’ elbow. “ _Please_ can you see if we can go out? We can sneak through the window to avoid Liam if you want. _I just don’t want to drink more olive oil_.”

Louis laughs and jumps off the bed as he ruffles Harry’s hair. “I’m with you there. Alright, here’s the plan. It’s a dastardly one.”

“Shoot.”

“You shower, check in with your mum or Clare or whatever you need to do; I’m gonna sneak off to a phone and call for a car. This is black ops, okay, so you’re gonna need to act normal. Can you do that?”

“I guess I can leave the gold thong in my laundry for once,” Harry muses. “I already talked to Mum but I’ll send Clare a text, yeah, and I’ll shower. I smell.”

Louis leans down and presses his face into the top of Harry’s head. He smells like sleep-sweat and last night’s champagne and stage lights; it’s almost a sordid, obscene, intimate scent. Louis swallows and stands back up. 

“You’re not terrible,” he assesses. “Only smell like half a pigpen.”

“Fuck off and go call a car,” Harry groans, pushing at Louis’ shoulders. Louis is nearly out of the room when Harry finally gets out of bed, naked as a jaybird, and Louis’ face heats a little as he shuts the door and slips off down the hall. Harry stretches again, cracking out the rest of his lower back, always sore, and thumbs out a text to Clare on his way into the bathroom. The mirrors are still steamed from Zayn’s shower and there are hair products _everywhere_ , so he has to push aside an afro comb and a tube of some sort of wax to set his phone down on the corner of the sink.

_perfect job, Clare Bear. all things said….i’m glad it was you. massive thank you .xxxxx_

By the time Louis is creeping back up the stairs, hugging the wall like he’s in a spy film, Harry is singing Stevie Wonder at the top of his lungs in the shower. Louis lurks outside the door and hops from foot-to-foot; the X Factor House is full of Aqua Opera virtuosos, but Harry isn’t normally among them. Of One Direction, that’s more Zayn- and Liam’s gig, and Louis’ own, if he’s honest. So far in the competition, he’s done the majority of his singing in the shower, actually, but Harry is more of a speechmaker, rehearsing interview sound bites and giving passionate treatises about things like the cost of cab fare and the inflation of Christmas cracker prices. But this morning, Harry is belting out a song and seems not to care that his voice is still a bit shot from being sick the day before. 

Some of that Boot Camp confidence is back. Louis likes it.

He likes mostly everything about Harry, if he’s honest. Louis is standing so near the door that when it opens and Harry tries to step out, he ends up stepping on Louis’ toes and sends them both stumbling backwards. 

“Good morning,” Harry laughs, adjusting the towel around his waist. 

“Sorry,” Louis says, and sweeps his hair back into place. “I was trying to be covert-like. Anyway, we’ve got a car coming in ten. Starbucks?”

“Yeah, great.” Harry pads into their shared room and drops the towel, bending over shamelessly to root through the piles of trackies littering the floor. Louis turns and faces the wall, then starts fiddling with the knickknacks on the dresser to look more casual. “Thanks, Louis.”

“No problem, mate,” Louis says. “Big day, isn’t it? Least I can do is get you a smoothie and a scone.”

“Two scones,” Harry interjects, and there’s a soft _shush_ as he pulls a sweatshirt over his head. Louis turns and Harry grins at him, shaking out his hair.

“Whoa, don’t get greedy.” Louis tousles Harry’s curls and Harry bats his hand away. “Two scones? What do you think you are, a new dad or a popstar or something?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and he grins white and bright, biting his bottom lip. “I think I’m both, actually.”

Louis wraps his arm around Harry’s neck and pulls him down into something half-hug and half-noogie, ruffling his hair violently before smacking a kiss to the crown of Harry’s head. “Oh, right! Silly me.” He gives Harry an indulgent headscratch before shoving him out the door with a swift kick to the bottom. “Now we’re five late for the car, get a fucking move on before Liam catches on and forces olive oil on us.”

“Sounds kinky,” Harry comments in a whisper as they tiptoe down the stairs and around to the side door. They manage to make it outside before Liam’s radar goes off – Harry and Louis are both leaning up on their knees to face the house as Liam comes barreling outside in his sock feet, shaking his fist at the car like a foiled Scooby-Doo villain and shouting something they can’t hear. Louis flips over to moon Liam as their car retreats, and Harry laughs so hard tears stream down his face and he chokes on air.

While Louis is slapping Harry on the back, there’s a soft buzz and Harry fumbles in his pocket for his phone.

When he pulls it up, there’s a picture message waiting on the screen: the tiniest wrinkled fingers, tiniest crinkled nose, big green eyes squinting open and a wide, yawning, toothless pink mouth. 

The text below reads, _we’re singin along daddy! good luck from MILLIE! xxxxxxx_

Harry bites his lip again and when he looks up at Louis, his own big, green eyes are shining. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and rests his head against Harry’s shoulder. “So you think she likes the name, then? Millie?”

“I dunno if she cares,” Harry says. “But I like it, and so does my mum. I told her this morning we’re gonna call her Millie and you thought of it. She says thanks, by the way, for taking care of me yesterday. I was really out of it.”

“You had reason to be,” Louis says. “Here, gimme your phone. I’ll take a picture of you that you can send Millie so she’ll see your face.”

Harry grins and hands over his phone, and Louis snaps the photo of Harry with his bright, happy eyes. Harry captions it _all my songs are for you! xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Then he turns his grin to Louis and says, “Here, take one with me and we’ll send that, too.”

“Oh, H, I don’t – ”

“Just do it,” Harry says, and slings his arm around Louis’ shoulders. He holds out his phone with the other hand to snap an awkwardly-angled photograph, taps out, _Louis says hi….he gave you your name, so blame him! x love you millie_

The car pulls to a stop alongside a Starbucks in Covent Gardens, and Louis is glad for the distraction as they slip out of the car because he can’t stop smiling down at his shoes.

•••

They move nonstop for the rest of the day: they rehearse for as long as Savan and Yvie can keep them, which is just long enough to determine that Harry’s voice is still well and truly shot; Harry is sent to the doctors, who determine that he’s burst a blood vessel in his throat. When he comes back, head hanging but otherwise still vibrating with energy, they have to reshoot their intro video to address for the clamoring fans -- _they have clamoring fans!_ \-- why Harry still isn’t singing a solo. The mood around the house and the studio is tense, just like it had been the previous week, but Harry is different. He’s nervous, they all are, but… there’s a deep streak of relaxation running through him, a calmed air that soothes the others, too, and gives them all hope, even though by rights they should be the most concerned about their footing this week. But Harry just seems so _secure_ for the first time since they’ve known him, and he’s steady in a way that quietly makes him the man to follow.

Before they go onstage, they toast each other with Haribo bears that Niall found in his pocket and toss them back in Liam’s olive oil shots. It’s a _terrible_ idea, but Harry’s whisper of, “For Millie, guys, please?” makes it all seem worth it.

They’re a little off-time and will surely get reviews calling them The Liam Payne Band, but it’s a better performance than last week. They can all feel it in their bones: something little is changed in the world, but something huge is changed in them as a band and they can _feel_ the audience seeing it, getting it. The moment their music stops, Louis can’t help hauling Harry into a hug.

And if Cheryl Cole can’t even cope with how cute they are, then, well. That’s always a plus.

The difference carries through the week, getting stronger every day. Bit by bit, Harry opens up a little bit more and the world loves him more for it. Soon, the paparazzi that follow them are crowding him instead of Liam; there are more articles in the paper about Harry than about the band. He tells Louis, in hushed voices in the middle of the night when Louis huddles into Harry’s bunk, that he knows he _should_ be terrified, but right now, he just can’t be. 

“It’s just,” he whispers, snuggling up a little closer to Louis so their toes tangle beneath the blankets, “I see her and I feel like – wow, I made that, you know? And I feel like, like I do anything, basically, if I can do that.”

“Yeah,” Louis whispers back. “It’s pretty amazing.”

“She’s amazing,” Harry answers. “D’you wanna see what she did today?”

And Louis inevitably says yes, just to hear Harry’s voice a bit longer in the dark, and Harry shows Louis nearly-identical photos of tiny peanut Millie in different fuzzy onesies emblazoned with pandas or tiger stripes or teacups.

(“I didn’t want her to feel limited by like, pink and butterflies,” Harry explains. “But she can like them if she wants. It’s got to be her choice, though. I’m trying to wear a lot of purple and stuff so she can see it’s for everyone.”

“I don’t think she can even see colors yet,” Louis says.

“I think you’re thinking of puppies, not babies,” Harry retorts.)

Louis falls asleep in Harry’s bunk more often than his own, the week after Millie is born. The other boys don’t question it, because they’re all sharing a room and can hear that there’s nothing going on, but Niall tells Louis on Wednesday that Cher asked him whether Lou and Harry were fucking. 

“I told her no,” Niall says honestly. “Didn’t tell her anything about either of you, neither. Just sort of ran off, actually, but the food cart came so I don’t think it were suspicious at all.”

Louis smiles and ruffles Niall’s hair. “Not in the slightest, mate. Was it the breakfast cart?”

“No,” Niall says earnestly, “The lunch, with the good kebabs.”

“Then yeah, not suspicious,” Louis assesses. His voice quiets a bit as he says, “Thank you. For not.”

“Of course,” Niall says. His eyes are wide and sincere. “It’s none of her business. None of mine, even, really. Although I’m not much for voyeurism, just – so you know. In case. Just – if you need, just holler and I’ll skedaddle.”

“It’s really not like that.”

Niall gives Louis a knowing look down the length of his nose. “Sure. I’m pickin’ up what you’re puttin’ down.”

He shoots Louis double finger-guns as he backs out of the room, and spends a long minute desperately wondering what ‘I’m picking up what you’re putting down’ is supposed to mean in an effort to avoid thinking about Niall’s implications. Because, of course, Louis _doesn’t_ have a crush on Harry; it would be hopelessly futile. He’s straight, clearly, for one thing, as he’s got a kid, and on top of that, _he’s got a kid_. Even if he isn’t straight, he’s got quite enough going on that he doesn’t need a clingy bandmate or a sexuality crisis or any of the few things Louis feels he has to offer.

So instead he offers an ear for Harry’s life philosophies about onesie patterns and an eye for daily baby photos and a warm body to cuddle at night, and thinks that honestly, if that’s all it ever is, it’s probably enough. 

All the same, the fans start talking about ‘Larry Stylinson.’

“What’s ‘shipping’?” Liam asks over breakfast on Thursday. 

“The transport of cargo from one place to another,” Harry answers, not looking up from his sausage roll. “They used to do it on ships, not cars or trains. So it’s called shipping.”

“I know _that_ ,” Liam says. “But I mean, here, look at these tweets – ‘I ship Larry Stylinson so hard, at-one-direction.’ ‘At-one-direction makes shipping Louis and Harry so easy. Larry Stylinson for life.’ They’re not transporting you two somewhere, so what does it mean?”

“Larry Stylinson?” Zayn asks. “What’s that, like, Brangelina?”

“Or Bennifer,” Louis offers, gesturing with his butter knife in a way that makes Niall grab his elbow in alarm. “Or TomKat, but that one’s awful. Or, um – what’s another?”

“Posh’n’Becks,” Harry offers. “Sort of.”

“Larry Stylinson,” Niall says thoughtfully, “I like it. Rolls off the tongue nicely.”

“Yeah, so’s your oatmeal,” Zayn grumbles. “Swallow before you talk.”

All four of the rest of them promptly and unconsciously stick out their food-covered tongues at Zayn before looking back to Liam’s phone. 

“So what’s shipping?” Liam presses. “Is it like – is it a _sex thing_?”

“If it is, it’s not very good,” Louis says, “As I’ve been sleeping quite soundly.”

“I think it’s probably short for ‘relationship,’ given context,” Zayn muses. “It’s like the opposite of Larry Stylinson. ‘Cause it’s an abbreviation, and all, but the other’s a portmanteau.”

Niall, Liam, and Louis blink at him, but Harry nods. 

“I get it,” he says. “But I also got a GCSE at English. Gotta use shorter words for the rest of the peanut gallery.”

“Fans like Lou and Harry,” Zayn explains slowly. “They like to pretend they’re a relationship like Brangelina. Shipping means pretending a relationship.”

“Oh,” Liam says. “Are you sure it’s not a sex thing?”

“I don’t know!” Zayn shrugs, going back to his breakfast. “I’m not a fourteen-year-old girl.”

“Well, I still like it,” Niall insists idly, “Even if it’s a sex thing.”

“Me, too,” Harry says. “Especially if it’s a sex thing.” His phone buzzes in his pocket and Harry stuffs the rest of the sausage roll between his teeth as he thumbs back an answer. He swallows, then waves his phone a bit, “Gonna – ”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” They all wave him off. “Tell her we said hi.”

Harry wanders off to Skype with Millie and his family, and Zayn stands up to brush crumbs off his thighs. 

“I’m gonna go take a bath,” he says. “I’m hanging with Gen today.”

Niall and Louis _ooooh_ appropriately and Zayn gives them a two-finger salute on his way out of the room. Niall nicks the rest of Zayn’s cereal and fidgets a minute before Louis rolls his eyes and says, “God, go on, Niall, make some bacon if you’re that desperate.”

“Yeah, cheers,” Niall agrees, and scampers off to the kitchen.

Liam looks up from his phone with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. “Are you leaving me, too?”

“Nah,” Louis shrugs. “I’m not done eating. Plus, it’s early and you’re the only one left who can amuse me, so amuse me.”

“Louis,” Liam says softly, “Can I – do you have a crush on Harry?”

“What?” Louis asks, dropping the remainder of his sausage roll onto his plate so he can hide his white fingers in his lap, “Because of Larry Stylinson? Come off it, Lee.”

Liam blinks at Louis and it’s discomfortingly like being judged by a very small chocolate Labrador puppy. “You can tell me, you know. I’m not – it would be fine, if you did. If you do, I mean. I just – I mean, I’m not, but – I understand. You. That you are. And Harry’s – well, everyone – a little, I guess. For Harry. Not that I would, you know, but I mean, I – he’s got that – ”

“The x-factor?” Louis guesses dryly. He tries to swallow around the dry lump in his throat but it’s not working.

“Yeah,” Liam says gratefully. “He’s charming. Maybe… to a fault, a bit. But he’s certainly doing us well on votes.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “He is.” He coughs. “Charming, I mean.”

Liam leans forward and looks at Louis from beneath lowered brows. “So do you?”

“I don’t know, Lee!” Louis cries, throwing his hands up just enough that he can cover his eyes, push his fingers against the lids a bit and try to block out this morning. “I don’t think about it! There’s no point, is there? He’s not mine to – he’s not – it doesn’t matter, alright? There’s too much going on now that _does_ matter for me to bother with things that – don’t.”

Liam tilts his head. “Okay. Just – there’s a lot of this ‘shipping’ chatter on Twitter. Most of it, I can’t tell whether they’re being kind or not, but… here, look,” he thrusts his phone under Louis’ nose and there’s a photo of Louis and Harry from Starbucks, the day Millie was born, and there are red arrows and white captions all over it, tracing lines from Harry’s eyes to Louis’ arse and circling Louis’ hand on Harry’s back. “They think Harry’s – that Harry is, too. It looks convincing when it’s all circled like this.”

“Liam, I could probably draw the same kinds of lines on a picture of you and _Zayn_ ,” Louis says, fully ignoring the warm twinge moving up into his chest and the roaring urge to go hide in a bush or cupboard somewhere. “I don’t want to put words in Harry’s mouth, so I’m not going to say anything, and really, my feelings about it don’t matter. He’s got Millie, and that’s what he’s got to focus on. We’ve got the competition; that’s what I’ve got to focus on. That’s it. If ‘Larry Stylinson’ makes people happy and gets us votes, then as long as they’re not cruel, then – have at. But it doesn’t matter.” He knocks his knuckles against Liam’s forehead. “Don’t worry your pretty Bieber head, Payne.”

Liam looks impossibly sad. “Okay, Louis.” He pauses, hesitates, then rests his hand over Louis’ wrist. “But – your feelings _do_ matter. I just – you should know that.”

•••

The next week passes with a churning undercurrent of increasing excitement and pressure: the fewer acts are left in the competition, the more fans the remaining contestants seem to have everywhere they go, screaming their names, waving signs and banners, wanting to know all about their lives. Offering sex, which Zayn and Niall take them up on; cherrypicking through their Facebook friends, which sends Harry into paroxysms of panic because he has no idea what his ex-bandmates or Clare’s friends might be loose-lipped about on their pages. Gemma has photos of Millie all over her own page; as much as Harry wants to brag – because really, Millie is the most beautiful baby in the world and he thinks everyone should know it – he begs her to delete her Facebook.

And the more fans One Direction has, the more people start to ship ‘Larry Stylinson,’ and by Wednesday even the newspapers are analyzing photos of Harry and Louis and using the portmanteau in their coverage of the band. The third video diary gives the fans an insane amount of mileage, since Louis had unconsciously bitten Harry’s shoulder and, yeah, afterwards, watching it back, it is sort of sexier than he’d thought it would be.

But it means that they’re getting more and more tweets labeling Louis “so gay,” and he’s – he’s not really sure how he’s supposed to take that.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind it at all, and Louis supposes that makes sense if Harry can shrug it off and exist happily in his own comfortable and confident heterosexuality, just snuggling up to Louis whenever he feels like he wants some affection. They end up spending almost all of their time together – the whole band is close, but Harry and Louis become inseparable in that second week of Millie’s life. They’re pretty much only ever apart when one of them is in the shower, and half the time the other will come in for a piss and a chat anyway. They do hang out with the other boys; Niall tags along with them shopping all the time, and they play a fair bit of FIFA against Zayn and Liam, but Louis is acutely aware that it’s a _they_ that bring Niall shopping, a _they_ who triumph at FIFA every time.

The only time, really, that they’re dependably apart and Louis has an hour to breathe Harry-free air is when Harry makes his daily Skype call to Millie. Through unspoken understanding, the boys all know that Millie is still too new for Harry’s relationship with her to be anything but private. The calls change time every day, depending on their hectic schedule and Millie’s sleep, but if Harry’s disappeared and isn’t in the kitchen, wearing nothing but his pants and making a fry-up, then he’s talking to his daughter and they know better than to disrupt that.

“Oh, sorry.”

Zayn hesitates in the doorway, hovering somewhere between ‘open’ and ‘shut,’ when he sees Harry cradling the laptop across his knees, all tucked up in the middle of Louis’ bunk since it was nearest the window where the good internet came through (the wireless name was “XFACTR CUNTS STAY OUT,” but really, they should have set an easier password than ‘fuckcowell1.’ Louis’d cracked it their first night, _and_ he’d been tipsy.) Harry’s smiling so serenely at the screen that whatever – whoever – he’s Skyping with, Zayn knows he’s intruding.

Harry looks over. “No, don’t be.” He beams at Zayn. “D’you wanna meet Millie?”

Zayn shifts his weight from one foot to the other, still paused in the doorway. He does want to see Harry’s baby, if only because it’s still sort of hard to wrap his head around the idea that he has one. He’s younger than Zayn is; makes it different from when Rebecca’s kids come to visit the house and use the boys as their own private jungle gym.

“Zayn, just come on already.”

Zayn bobs his head and comes into the room. “Yeah, alright.”

Harry beams at him again and scoots over on Louis’ bunk so that Zayn can sit beside him, pressed up close so they can share the small laptop screen.

Millie isn’t quite asleep – at least, Zayn thinks she’s not, it looks like her eyes are a bit open, anyway, but the picture’s fuzzy and she’s got the smallest face he’s seen since Safaa was born, and he himself was pretty young then. She doesn’t look like Harry. She doesn’t not look like him, either. She just looks like a baby, and she’s sort of scrunched-up and pink. She’s so little that her pajamas still have those mittens on them, since she doesn’t understand fingers yet.

“She’s really small,” Zayn says smartly.

“Well, she’s only two weeks old,” Harry defends, frowning. “And she’s just supposed to have been born next week. She is small. She’s pretty, though. I think.”

“Yeah, she’s cute for being that little,” Zayn half-lies. “My sisters looked like lizards for the first few months.”

Anne tsks from the screen. “That’s terrible, Zayn.”

“Sorry, Ms. Cox,” Zayn says and Harry chuckles. “It’s true, though. I definitely thought Waliyha was an iguana. I kept trying to bring her in for Show and Tell.”

Even Anne laughs at that, and Millie gives a little wriggle at the sound and the vibration. She punches out her tiny little arm, and yeah, maybe she’s actually quite cute.

“You don’t look like a lizard, Millie,” Harry soothes her through the screen. “Zayn is just being silly.”

“That rhymes,” Zayn observes, and Harry’s jaw drops delightedly as he claps Zayn’s shoulder.

“I told you about Zayn, didn’t I? Do you want to talk to him?”

Millie gives absolutely no response, but Harry turns to Zayn expectantly. 

Zayn glances from Harry to the screen and back again. “I don’t know what to say.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not like she understands words yet, I don’t think. So basically, you can say whatever you want. But don’t swear.”

“Why not, if she don’t understand words yet?”

“Just in case,” Harry says firmly. “I don’t want her first word to be ‘pussy’ or something.”

“Harry!”

“Sorry, Mum.” Harry grins and neither looks nor sounds abashed in the slightest. “Well, Zayn? She’s waiting, and she is my daughter so she’s probably not very patient.”

“Right,” says Zayn. He looks at the vaguely person-like bundle on the screen and says, “Erm, I like the birds on your jammies, Millie. They’re like, cute and that. Harry, I feel stupid.”

“You sound stupid,” Harry confirmed. “She’s a small person, not a cat. Just basically talk to her like a person who’s very small.”

“Right,” sighs Zayn. “Erm… it’s Halloween this weekend, so we’ve gone to the London Dungeons? That’s a haunted house… I don’t suppose you know what ‘haunted’ means. Or ‘house.’ Or ‘London.’ Ah, but, er, you’ll like Halloween when you’re a bit bigger. Maybe. Your dad was quite scared at the London Dungeons, though. He held Louis’ hand the whole time.” He glances over to Harry. “Has she met Louis yet?”

“No,” Harry says, and smiles warmly at him. “You’re the first one.”

Millie lets out a surprisingly huge, squeaky yawn just then and a bubble of spit blurps out from between her pouty, Harry-like lips, which Anne wipes away, sighing, and Millie fusses.

She really is quite cute, Zayn decides then. She only looks like a shell-less turtle a little bit.

Two days later, Harry is beaming ear-to-ear between his red-rimmed vampire eye makeup as he shows Zayn the little picture on the screen of his iPhone: Millie, done up in a little spotted babygro with cat ears, with a tiny black triangle over her nose and whiskers drawn onto her cheeks. Her eyes are actually open all the way for once, and it’s clear that they’re the same sparkling green as Harry’s. Her hair’s not growing in yet, but Zayn has a hunch she’ll have curls, too.

“Mum says she likes Halloween after all,” Harry informs him, slinging an arm around his neck. Harry pecks Zayn on the cheek and Zayn pushes Harry’s chest, still not so used to the sort of total lack of physical boundaries that Harry and Louis have. “It’s probably Millie’s favorite holiday.”

“It’s the only holiday she’s been alive for,” Zayn snorts. He hesitates just slightly before pulling Harry’s head under his arm to drive his knuckles into Harry’s scalp for a quick, sharp noogie.

“Ow!” Harry yelps. “I’m trying to be grateful to you, you twat!”

He pokes two long fingers into Zayn’s kidney and Zayn huffs, letting Harry go so he can bend backwards a little over the twinge. “Fucker.”

Harry shakes his hair about and swipes his bangs back. “Anyway, she’ll see Bonfire Night next week and hate it, so it’s still basically a good point.”

Zayn grunts something akin to an affirmative.

“And Louis’ll ruin Christmas by making it all about his birthday, probably,” Harry says wryly.

Zayn laughs. “True. I suppose that makes me a better uncle for her anyway.”

“Definitely,” Harry agrees, checking the photo on his phone again. “At least in principle, if not in practice. Although you did call her a lizard.”

“That would’ve been a good costume for her,” Zayn says.

This time, it’s Harry who gives Zayn a noogie, and they both get yelled at by Adam and Christina for messing up Zayn’s hair and making his red eyeliner smudge all down his cheek right before showtime.

•••  
  
•••

Hands cover Harry’s eyes from behind and a familiar voice sing-songs _guess who, Hazzhead?_ in his ear.

Harry grins wide enough to crinkle his eyes and turns around to throw his arms around Gemma. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprising you,” Gemma laughs, rubbing his back. “We had planned to come this week, so Mum thought that I should turn up anyhow. Robin was going to come with me but he’s a bit ill and hunkered down at the bungalow to keep the house germ-free.”

Harry nods, curls flopping. “That’s good. Tell him thanks.”

“Well, you _can_ text him yourself,” Gemma says. “And I’m to tell you that you really ought to, a bit more often?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Harry agrees, slinging an arm around Gemma’s waist to lead her back to the green room to join up with the others. “Sorry, I’ve been a bit – ”

“Understandable,” Gemma assures him. “You’ve got quite a lot going on.”

Harry looks down at Gemma beside him and bites his lip through his grin. “What’s she like?” he asks softly. “I mean, in person.”

“She’s the _absolute_ bloody cutest.” Gemma smiles up at him and pats his cheek. “She’s getting a bit good at looking at my face when I talk to her now, which is really exciting. And before I got on the train today she was having her first tummy time and seemed to do okay.”

“What’s that?” Harry asks, brow creasing. “Is it important? Why didn’t Mum send me a picture?”

“Just when she practices lying down her front instead of her back,” Gemma says. “She’ll probably send you a picture once she’s doing something interesting with it.”

“But it’s all interesting!” Harry argues. “I want to see everything.”

“Well, then you’re lucky I brought…” Gemma trails off as she rummages around in her purse. “Ah! I brought you a video.”

Harry’s grin widens up again and his cheeks dimple. “You’re the best sister I got.”

“I’m the only sister you got,” Gemma laughs drolly and ruffles Harry’s hair. “Your head’s all sticky.”

“It’s just gel,” Harry whines.“Let me see my baby!”

Gemma pinches his side and Harry yelps as she turns on the little video camera and turns the viewscreen to face him. 

Gemma is holding the little bundle of Millie dressed in her gray-and-white spotted kitty-costume babygro, and lifts her little curled hand to wave at the camera.

 _Say hi to Dad_ , she sings at Millie. Millie just yawns. _You’re gonna vote for Dad tonight, right, Silly Millie?_ Millie works her face in a tiny squint and Gemma kisses her little cheek.

 _Okay, Gems, try putting her down_ , says Anne’s voice from just behind the camera, and Gemma shifts Millie gently to lie belly-down on a soft blue blanket on the floor, her face turned towards the camera. She gives a singular little mewl, but seems otherwise unaffected. Anne coos, _there’s our big girl._ There’s silence for a few moments before Anne says, _we’re all sending love, Harry, darling. We can’t wait to see you, and have a lovely and lucky show tonight._

Harry’s sucked his lips in between his teeth and holds them shut like he’s trying to hold the universe inside him even though a smile is threatening to crack open and set time free, and Millie will keep growing and getting bigger and getting older without him there. 

Gemma kisses his cheek. “She loves you. That blanket’s yours, and she’s always happiest when she’s got that.”

Harry still doesn’t trust himself to speak and just nods instead. He replays the video twice before he speaks.

“Why’s she breathing so fast? Is she ill?”

“She just breathes fast because she’s a baby,” Gemma assures him. She ruffles his hair again soothingly. “Their lungs are smaller.”

“Well, so’s the rest of them,” Harry points out. “Are you sure she’s alright?”

“ _Yes_ , Harry,” Gemma laughs. “And she does everything more than a big person. Breathes faster, heart’s faster, sleeps more, eats more often, poops more. Cries more even than you, and you’re a weeper.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m a _weeper_ ,” Harry argues, and pokes Gemma in the ear. “I’m just healthily self-aware.”

“Whatever you say, weeper,” Gemma snorts, pocketing her camera again. They trod arm-and-arm to the greenroom, and Niall bounds up to give Gemma a hug because, well, he’s Niall and she’s a person and that’s what he does. 

It’s all well and good that Gemma’s arms are otherwise occupied, though, because Harry’s stopped short in the doorway.

There’s a pretty blonde girl sitting in Louis’ lap, and when she tilts her head up to kiss him, he doesn’t refuse. He grins, even, and the girl’s lips catch half-on his teeth. There’s a flash as someone takes their picture and Louis shoots a thumbs’ up.

He looks around and sees Harry in the doorway. “Hey, H!” he calls. “Come join us! Bring your lovely sister! Niall! Down, boy.”

“Aw, fuck off, Louis,” Niall groans, but does finally stop hugging Gemma. He takes her hand and pulls her over to the craft services table, chattering happily about lamb kebabs. Gemma shoots Harry a slightly alarmed look, but he just shakes his head with a wry smile and pads off towards Louis and the mystery girl.

“Hiya!” she says, standing up to embrace Harry. “I’m Hannah.”

“Harry,” Harry says, and takes a seat besides Louis. “Where’d you come from?”

“Erm,” Hannah laughs, “Doncaster? I went to school with Louis.”

“She was the Frenchy to my Danny in _Grease_.” Louis grins.

“Danny was with Sandy,” Harry says, and it sounds petulant even to his own ears. He gives a little grimace. “Sorry. Post-show endorphins are making me weird. This is the first week I haven’t puked.”

“Well, that’s good,” Hannah says, sitting back down across Louis’ knees and patting Harry on the thigh.

“So, I didn’t know you were coming down,” Harry says, still studying Hannah from beneath lowered brows. “How long are you staying?”

“Just out the weekend,” Hannah tells him. Her thin fingers card through Louis’ hair and it makes Harry frown for reasons he can’t quite explain; Louis never mentioned her, Louis’ lap is usually where _Harry_ sits after shows; Louis is paying his attention to someone else; Louis kissed her.

It must be the attention being paid to someone else, Harry thinks. He’s been quite spoiled for Louis’ affection for nearly a month now.

“I’ve got a hotel just up the road,” Hannah continues, and Harry blinks. “And Louis’ promised to treat me to Nando’s tomorrow before I take the train back, for all my troubles.”

“Nando’s?” Niall suddenly pops up at Harry’s shoulder. There’s a smear of chocolate on his lip and Harry stifles a grin as he genially smudges it away. Niall bats at his hand. “Geroff; I’m not a baby. Are we going to Nando’s tomorrow?” Then he blinks, noticing Hannah. He leans across Harry to give her a hug. “Hi, I’m Niall. Who’re you?”

“Niall, we find out who people are _before_ we hug them,” Louis reprimands playfully. “This is Hannah. She’s – my girlfriend.”

Niall cocks his head at that and glances a bit too quickly between Louis and Harry. Then he pastes a grin on his face and says, “Well, if there’s ever been an occasion that calls for Nando’s, I’d say this ranks right up there. Who’s treating?”

Harry slings his arm around Niall’s shoulders and pulls his head down to give him a headcuddle. “How about you, Nialler? You can buy a jumbo platter or two and a round of lemon puddings, since you’re so excited.”

Niall nods enthusiastically and squeezes Harry right back. “If that’s what it takes to get some good food, I’m all in. I’m dead starving.”

“You just ate six kebabs!” Gemma says, aghast, as she slides onto the sofa at Niall’s opposite side. “And a chocolate terrine!”

“That’s a snack,” Niall says, waving his hand dismissively. “You and me, Gems, we’re gonna have to spend more time together if you ever want to be Mrs. Niall Horan.”

“Don’t you dare spend more time together,” Harry threatens, deadpan, and everyone along the couch laughs. 

Hannah has a pleasant laugh, like Tinkerbell in an old Disney film. She clutches Louis’ forearm with her manicured hand while they chuckle, and he punctuates his laugh with a fond kiss to her temple.

The rest of the post-show party passes in a fairly happy Halloween daze until past midnight, when all of the guests are shooed away and back to their various hotels on incognito shuttles and the X-Factor contestants pile into the vans back home.

Gemma gives Harry a tight hug as they separate. “It’s so good to see you, Hazzhead.” Gemma murmurs. “Although really, I feel like I see you every day. She really looks like you did, you know.”

Harry buries his face into Gemma’s neck and squeezes her back. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow for lunch.”

“Yeah, yeah, Niall’s reminded me,” Gemma laughs, mussing his hair. “Have a good night, baby brother.”

“H, you coming?”

Harry looks back to where Louis is holding the van door open for him and smiles. He pinches Gemma’s arm to make her shriek and bows with a flourish before jogging back to the van. He clambers in beside Louis, who immediately settles an arm around Harry’s shoulders and nuzzles his bony chin over Harry’s shoulder. Harry winces and gives Louis an admonishing pinch, too, but rests his head against Louis’ all the same.

Back at the house, all of the contestants are quickly chivvied into their rooms and locked down for the night. There’s an hour of horsing around, but then Liam notices that Zayn’s fallen asleep right on the floor. Daddy Direction strikes again and sends everyone to their bunks, Niall and Liam lifting Zayn into his on their way.

After another half hour, everything is dark and quiet. Harry pulls out his phone and watches the video of tiny baby Millie on repeat, over and over. He tries his best to keep silent.

There’s a light thump and a rolling dip as Louis drops down from his bunk onto Harry’s like a real-life Peter Pan. He shuffles up the mattress and pulls back the blankets without any invitation to snuggle down beside the younger boy.

That’s when Louis finally looks at Harry’s face, and his own mischievous expression falls. “H? Harry? What’s wrong?”

Harry shrugs, his chin wrinkled from his silent, slight crying. He holds out his phone and Louis watches the video of Gemma and Millie, but a smile grows on his face.

“What’s so sad about this?” he whispers, checking Harry’s hip with his own. “She looks happy.”

“She is,” Harry sighs back. “And that’s good. But she’s happy without me. I’m missing everything, and I just – gets to me.”

Louis pulled Harry’s head down to rest against his shoulder. “It’s okay, Harry. It’s not that she’s happi _er_ without you. She’s happy now, but she’s going to be _more_ than happy with you, too.”

“I just wish that I could like… I’m really happy here, with you guys, and I love doing the show, but I wish I could have her with me, too. It’s hard to pretend like she doesn’t exist for most of the time, to everyone.”

Louis smiles sadly. “I know. It’s hard to hide a big part of your life… _all_ the time.”

Harry finally turns his head and then rolls over a bit so he and Louis can look face-to-face, and he knocks their knees together beneath the sheets. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis lies, and Harry makes a face. Louis sighs and scowls a bit, then rubs his eyes half-sleepily and half in agitation. “No, it’s fine. I think… I think I’d rather just hide. And I do love Hannah; she’s a right hoot to be around.”

“When did you – erm, why now? You weren’t with her at the summer,” Harry asks, and pulls the blankets up a bit higher around them.

“It’s not important,” Louis says, his face coloring slightly. Harry gives him another dry look that says he knows that Louis’ lying again, and so he sighs. “Everyone on Twitter – they call us gay. And I just –don’t really want to deal with it. Not right now.”

Harry frowns. “Should I leave you alone a bit more then? In public, at least?”

“No,” Louis says quickly, and his hand finds Harry’s hip. He squeezes once and Harry scowls and mutters _stop pinching my fat_. “Hannah’s just like – a fallback. ‘Can’t really be gay with Harry if I’ve got a hot blonde girlfriend,’ you know?”

Harry frowns. “Does she know?”

“It was her idea,” Louis says, smirking. 

“You told her?”

“No, she just… we’re friends. She figured it out. Something about my ‘manly hand gestures,’” Louis says, and both he and Harry stifle their laughter into the pillows.

“I’ll accept that only ‘cause you do,” Harry snorts. “Otherwise I’d go fight her for your honor. We could have a proper duel.”

“She’s surprisingly good at dueling,” Louis informs him. “She was in _Pirates of Penzance_ last year. She’d probably kick your ass if you gave her a foil.”

Harry opens his mouth, then furrows his brow and closes it again. “I wanted to make a gay joke about arses and foils but I couldn’t work it out in my head fast enough. I think I’m too tired.”

“I think your sense of humor is turning into Dad Humor,” Louis says loftily. “You’re gonna lose all your dirtiness and it’ll just be puns from here on out for the next forty years.”

“Yeah, puns really soil the opportunity to make dirty jokes.”

“Fuck off,” Louis groans. “You’re the absolute worst.”

“I’m absolutely not,” Harry says, and flops all over Louis so that his curls tickle Lou’s nose. “You love me. The internet says so.”

“Yeah, well, I dunno if you’ve seen, but the internet also says that you and I are having covert buttsex on the regular,” Louis says, “And that’s not true, so. Obviously I also don’t pine for you according to the theme of our weekly songs.”

Harry barks a short laugh into the pillows, but then rolls one eye up to peer at Louis from his perch on the pillow. “Have you? Not pined for me; you haven’t, obviously, but. Have you – had covert buttsex?”

“No,” Louis admits, “I told you, you lot were the first I – you know. _Came out_ to, I suppose is how to say it. I’ve never done anything with a boy, really. What, did you think I’ve secretly been bumming Liam or summat?”

“Or Niall,” Harry yawns. “I could see either. No, I was just – wondering.”

“Why, have you?”

“Not like – really. Clare sometimes – not – erm, just, basically, like, she – and fingers – and me… it’s nice,” Harry stutters. “So I just wondered if you actually, you know, if it was also nice… full-on.”

Louis tries to control his breathing; his chest feels tight and even that fully unsexy confession’s got him settled into a warm semi and if Harry cuddles any closer he’ll _feel it_ on his hip and oh, god, Harry’s – Harry’s taken fingers in him and that’s something Louis has been trying so hard for weeks _not_ to imagine. 

“I don’t know,” he manages roughly. “I’ll let you know when I – do.”

“Cool,” Harry murmurs sleepily. He closes his eyes and cuddles just that bit closer, and Louis freezes when Harry hesitates a moment, Louis’ thick cock firm against Harry’s hip through their pants, but Harry just makes a nice sleepy noise and wraps his arm around Louis’ waist. “Night, Lou.”

“Good night, Harry,” Louis whispers, and chances burying his face in the top of Harry’s head, letting the sweet-powdery soap smell of curls fill his nose.

“Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to meet Millie tomorrow? I mean, today? In the – day?”

Louis smiles against the top of Harry’s head and Harry must feel it because he tightens his arm around Louis’ waist. “Yeah.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	4. Chapter 4

“But Sharptooth, he leaps onto the boulder, and everything basically goes to sh – falls apart, right? But then at the last moment, and this part’s really scary, right, Cera comes back and then Littlefoot pushes Sharptooth into the water and _Petrie falls too_. But it’s okay! So then they see this cloud, right, that looks like a longneck and Littlefoot thinks it’s his mum for some reason, I dunno, maybe dinosaurs can’t really see well, but he follows it to the Great Valley, and everyone’s happy. Or as happy as they can be until the meteor comes and kills all the dinosaurs ever, but that’s not in the film,” Louis says, gesturing wildly. “And that’s the plot of _The Land Before Time_. Well, part one.”

“Thank you, Louis,” Anne says dryly, “That was fascinating.”

“Millie thinks so,” Louis says confidently. “Doesn’t she, H?” Louis nudges Harry with his shoulder and Harry’s head tips forward onto the soft curve of Louis’ neck. “Oi! Harold, wake up!”

“What?” Harry sits up and wipes his mouth. His eyes are entirely too bright to have truly been asleep; besides, he never wastes a second of his Millie Time. “I’m sorry, Lou, were you saying something?”

“You’re the worst,” Lou grumps, shoving Harry’s shoulder. He leans in towards the computer screen and loudly whispers, “Millie, your daddy is the absolute _worst_.”

Millie fusses at that, stretching and kicking so her round baby belly puffs out with indignance or indigestion, and her arms waggle in accusation.

“Now, see, she knows better,” Harry says indulgently. “She already knows that I’m the absolute best.”

He reaches out to tap his fingers over the screen lightly, just over her round cheek. She’s gained weight and color and jiggly babyfat since she was born, but she still doesn’t really have any hair to speak of. There’s a tiny, shadowed wisp of brunette at her forehead, but it’s nowhere near enough to tell whether she’ll have Harry’s curls. On screen, Millie fusses again, working her legs with great intent, and Anne shushes her gently and lifts her up to her shoulder for a burp.

She lets out a silly, relieved burble when she’s finished, and tucks her head down on Anne’s shoulder. Louis squeaks in spite of himself at how cute she is, and Harry glows.

“Yes, yes,” Anne reassures her, “You’re all better and your Daddy loves you. And Louis’ stopped telling that ridiculously long story about dinosaurs.”

“Hey, that movie is a hallmark of cinema,” Louis argues. “She’s going to be ages ahead of her peers already knowing the whole story. Her life has just been drastically improved.”

Millie wriggles once and Anne pauses, then sighs, patting Millie’s back.

“Louis, you should know that her response to your statement was to poo,” Anne says. “So I’ve got to go tend to her. But you two have fun today whatever you’re doing.” Millie gives a soft sob and wriggles again, and Anne chucks her up and down gently and coos, “Yes, little girl, I know, I know. Just saying bye to your Daddy! Say bye to Daddy!”

Millie kicks her legs urgently and Harry smiles through big, sad eyes. “Talk to you tomorrow, little Millie bean. I promise I won’t let Louis tell you any more movies.”

“But there’s twelve more _Land Before Time_ s!” Louis protests as the screen goes blank. Once Skype bubbles its disconnect, Louis swoons and falls sideways on Harry, landing with his head rested on Harry’s thigh and a gooey grin on his face. “I want one! Harry, I’m all _broody_ now.”

“Well, you can’t have mine,” Harry says, and fiddles with Louis’ fringe. “Adopt your own, then.”

“I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I?” Louis sighs. Harry scratches Louis behind the ears and Louis rumbles deep in his chest like a purr, cuddling closer to Harry. “But yours is cuter, though! And she likes dinosaurs!”

“I don’t even know that she was awake for that, Lou,” Harry laughs. “That was the _whole movie_ and she doesn’t know what a dinosaur is.”

“Sure she does. All little kids know dinosaurs. It’s a thing. I saw it on the Beeb.”

Harry yanks the ends of Louis’ hair lightly. “Was it on _Doctor Who_?” He shakes his head. “You’re absurd, basically. Now budge up, we’ve to go meet with Simon.”

Louis whines and Harry laughs, dumping Louis’ head off his lap as he jumps up to stand. Louis takes just a moment to appreciate the view as Harry bends over to root through their mass of clothes for a pair of jeans, then rolls out of the bed and straight onto the floor in a heap of his own just to make Harry laugh. 

“Come along then, we’ve got to go listen to Simon complain about Louis Walsh and figure out how to bend the rules again this week for whatever the theme’s gonna be.”

“What d’you think it will be?” Louis asks, shucking his own trackies and buttoning into chinos. “‘Songs About Vampires’? That’s my guess. Or, erm – ”

“‘Bonfire Night Classics,’” Harry suggests. “We could sing Billy Joel.”

“‘Louis Walsh’s Least Favorite Songs.’” Louis chuckles and they trip out of the room. “‘Tunes That Beat Westlife to #1.’ Whatever it is, as long as he spends more time complaining about Walsh than telling us we’re shit and need to practice more, I’m not bothered.”

“I think we’re doing well enough he won’t yell at us for a bit,” Harry says, perhaps too optimistically. “And anyway now we’re his only act so he’s bound to be kind to us.”

•••

Harry was wrong.

Simon was never what any of them would call _warm_ , but he did at least normally greet them by name. He hadn’t learned Zayn’s name yet and still sometimes called Niall ‘Neil,’ but he was a busy guy and they could forgive that. The first week, he’d even offered them sandwiches and soda, and every meeting since, they thought fondly back to turkey-on-wheat.

But apparently losing Belle Amie while Wagner and all _four_ of Cheryl’s were still in the competition meant that no matter how many fans One Direction had waiting at the gates before every rehearsal, Simon didn’t feel the show was performing where he wanted it to be. And on top of that, Sophia, F.Y.D., and Diva Fever were all lashing out against Simon and One Direction in the press, which set him on edge to defend his new-made boy band – by making them work harder and perform better – and the recent Sun and Mail articles about one of the F.Y.D. members doing drag shows seemed to wear Simon’s polite veneer down to a translucent eggshell.

From the heavy door being opened to usher the boys inside – sandwichless – to the first words Simon says, minutes later, after sliding copies of the Sun and the Mail and Metro across his leviathan desk towards Harry, Louis, Liam, Niall, and Zayn so they could see their former friends’ (they’d thought they were friends) harsh words and the scathing critiques of the show, Harry felt like Simon’s eyes were affixed on him, calculating.

“I wanted to give you boys a chance to come clean if necessary,” Simon says. He actually sits back in his chair and steeples his fingers like a vaudeville villain; he’s only missing the mustache and a coil of rope. “Kelvin’s… past performances really set a pall on the Groups category this year and we don’t need another.”

Harry’s stomach writhes and his face feels icy hot. He can tell his palms are sweating and he can’t feel his fingers, and then –

Louis reaches out blindly beside him and his hand finds Harry’s, looping his thumb into the soft gap between Harry’s pinkie and ring finger. Louis’ hand is cold, too, but steady, and Harry thinks, _I’m not the only one keeping something from Simon; it’s going to be okay_.

Simon glances to their hands and raises one eyebrow, his stare flicking unapologetically to Louis’ face.

“I’ve got a girlfriend, sir,” Louis says softly. He swallows and smiles through closed lips. “Met her at school.”

“You should tweet about it,” Simon says, and his chair swivels just a bit to face down Zayn and Liam.

“I’m not with Cher!” Zayn says emphatically. “I don’t know why the papers say I am.”

“I don’t care about that.” Simon dismisses him with a distinct roll of his eyes. “No, Liam, Liam Payne, the sensible one, I’m concerned about you and Miss Peazer.”

As one unit, Harry, Louis, Niall, and Zayn all look to Liam with dropped jaws. Niall’s blue eyes are so round they seem cartoonish, and – having clearly been let off the hook – Louis slips his hand away from Harry’s again and just pats his thigh. Liam sits up straighter in his chair with bright red cheeks and quick-blinking eyes.

“How did you know? We haven’t told anyone!”

“I can see that by the look on Niall’s face,” Simon says. “But it’s my show. I know everything.”

“I don’t, I don’t, I thought – if no one knows, then who does it hurt?” Liam asks. “I just… she’s nice.”

“I’m sure she is,” Simon agrees wryly, “Just as Matt’s dancers and stylists and Aiden’s dancers and wardrobe girls are nice.”

“No! I mean, yes, but – I mean, no! Yes, I’m seeing her, but – not like, not like Matt and Aiden. They didn’t see _her_ , I meant the other dancers – I didn’t see any other dancers. I don’t want to see any other dancers,” Liam stammers. “Just Danielle. So who does it hurt?”

“You,” says Simon, “Once all of the girls who vote for you because you’re a cute teenage boy think you aren’t a single, virginal treasure they can win when they help you win the X-Factor.”

“Well, that’s not why they vote,” Liam says. His eyebrows gather. “It’s because they like us, isn’t it?”

“They like _you_ , yes,” Simon says. “If people voted on talent, F.Y.D. would be ranked higher than you and Wagner would have been gone before the first show. Your voters might like your music, but not like Rebecca’s or Matt’s or Mary’s or even Cher’s. Your voters are going to propel you to the top because they want to date you and make a mess on your innocence, and none of you” – he clips his words like nails – “can do anything to jeopardize that if you want a career.” He takes a long breath through his nose, leans back again, and smiles at Liam in a plastic Simon Cowell way. “So what are you going to do about this dancer?”

Liam hesitates. He glances quickly at Louis, who is hiding his sexuality, and Harry, who is hiding his _daughter_ , and Zayn, who gets hurled xenophobic insults every day, half of which are from the newspaper, and Niall, who – well, Niall is an open book. But Louis and Harry are staring at Liam with frightened, soft eyes, and before he really knows what he’s saying, Liam opens his mouth.

“Keep dating her. Quietly and discreetly. My personal life is mine,” Liam says.

And Harry thinks it might be the first time he’s heard Liam speak off-camera without second-guessing himself.

He smiles at Liam across the room, sitting tall and looking like the leader Simon believed Liam could be, and Niall smiles back at Harry as Liam and Simon match eyes. 

They’ve all talked in this meeting so Harry won’t have to say a word. He’s only known them since July, but they already know he can’t lie, especially about something that matters, and he’ll never be able to lie about his whole heart.

“Is there anything else that I should know?” Simon asks finally, with finality in his turn away from Liam. “You are the last Group left in the competition. The viewers will not be kind, so if you lose your core of enamored girls, you will lose it all.”

Louis bites his back teeth and smiles. “No, sir. Nothing.”

Simon blinks twice and his entire demeanor changes, melting from imposition to affection in a second. “I think we’ve got to do a song on Saturday which I believe you could have a hit single with next week. We’ve got to show your star potential to court those older votes and male votes.”

“Yeah, we don’t want to come fourth, third, second, we want to win,” Harry babbles, ticking off on his fingers, his jumping stomach still sloshing inside. He does want to win this. He _needs_ to win this. He can’t give Simon a reason to think otherwise, or the boys, any of the boys who are covering up for him even when it’s their own arses on the line, too, he can’t – so he spews a sound bite and hopes it will seem charming, and Simon smiles at him with his eyes crinkled at the corners, so it must be.

After the meeting is adjourned because Simon’s got a phone call from New York or Los Angeles or Tokyo or somewhere else fabulous and faraway, the soft-boned boys pile into a black X Factor van and, trembling, declare that they need burgers or will perish.

Harry shuts his eyes and leans his face into Louis’ shoulder to hide. “That was terrifying.”

“Yup,” Louis agrees. “Pretty sure I’ve soiled myself.”

“Crack a window, then,” Zayn snorts. “He was harsh. When he was going’ on about Cher and calling her – you know, calling her a – ” Zayn’s lips flutter, hesitating, before he whispers _pikey_ , “‘Cause of her uncle’s funeral, I was sort of. Like, I know it’s different, but I thought he might slip up, like, and call me like, like a – I dunno. Paki or summat.”

“No,” Niall gasps, and launches himself at Zayn across the seat to give him a catlike headcuddle, which makes Zayn wrinkle his nose and struggle to push Niall away from him for a moment before Niall’s suckerlike octopus limbs cling on tighter and Zayn wilts, accepting the affection. “Don’t say that; ‘s terrible.”

“Yeah, well,” Louis mumbles, “Not the only one worrying about name-calling, mate.”

Niall reaches blindly behind him for Louis, but Louis just toes off his shoe and slaps his foot into Niall’s palm.

“Ew! Tommo, it’s all sweaty!”

“That’s what your mum said,” Louis sniffs, and cracks his toes.

“I should probably get used to it,” Zayn sighs, shrugging. “Show business and that. I should be used to it as it is. Life, and that.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Liam says fiercely, and apparently standing up to Simon was what he needed to come out of his shell because he hasn’t stammered through his words ever since. Harry finds he likes this Liam better, because at least he’s definitely saying what he means. “You nor Louis should have to feel like that’s just, inimitable.”

“Inevitable,” Zayn corrects, patting Liam’s knee.

“Either way,” Liam asserts. “That’s not right.”

“Well,” Louis says, “Thank you for taking the heat then.”

“Yeah,” Harry croaks, his face still buried in Louis’ shoulder. Their hoodies are all a bit ripe at this point and Harry thinks vaguely that he ought to do their laundry when they get back to the house, since he’s going to end up a domestic soon enough. He thinks of Millie’s tiny onesies tumbling around in the wash with his own sweatshirts that could fit five of her at once, and he has to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat. “That’s really big of you.”

Liam fidgets and knots his fingers. “It wasn’t. I was just being honest. I have been with Dani and I do want to keep on with her.”

“Oh, yeah! What’s up with that?” Niall asks, turning away from where he’s still forcibly trying to get Zayn to accept affection, and fixing wide eyes on Liam. Even Harry lifts his head to look at Liam. “How long has that been happening?”

Liam looks down at his lap, but they call all see that he’s fighting a small smile. “Like the fourth night here, maybe? I was practicing and she came in, and – she’s quite nice, is all.”

“Well, I’m glad for you,” Harry says.

“But you should’ve told us!” Louis exclaims. He kicks across the aisle between their seats and his bare toes worm up Liam’s leg. “We’re your _friends_ ; that’s the kind of thing you tell!”

Liam’s face flushes pink, and the car slows as they pull up alongside Gourmet Burger Kitchen, the X Factor’s favorite spot to send contestants. 

“ _Don’t you blush_ ,” Louis threatens, jumping out of the van with a scissor-kick and locking Liam in a noogie that nearly takes his head off, “You Kid in America you.”

“Louis!” Liam hisses, checking over their shoulders for paparazzi – they haven’t arrived yet, but they’ll be there by the time they finish their lunch and leave. It’s just how Syco works. “You’ll get us disqualified!”

“I’ll just blame it on Cher,” Louis says, waving his hand. “You lot! Out of the van! I’m hungry! Get out here!” He brushes them each off with a series of smacks as they hop out of the van, tutting praise like Mary Poppins, but slings his arm around Liam’s shoulders again as they move to walk inside. He makes a big show of crashing into the doorjamb as they try to squeeze through two-by-two, and Niall has to sit down on the sidewalk because he’s laughing too hard to stay upright.

Normally, it would be Harry that Louis hangs all over, but today, for what he did for the band, for all of them, Harry thinks Liam deserves all of the friendship in the world.

•••

Their performance for the fifth live show is complicated for the dancers but simpler for them: they don’t even try to give Harry a solo this week, which is frustrating because he can handle it now, he thinks, but good because it means he has a bit more time to spend on Skype, talking to Millie. The boys mostly still leave him alone for that, but sometimes Louis will flit into the room and sit on Harry’s bed to play on his phone or read a magazine while Harry’s busy telling Millie all about his day, or animals, or the history of London, or whatever he thinks is interesting. It’s nice not to be totally alone in that, Harry thinks; not that his mother isn’t lovely company on the other side of the computer screen, but that lingering resentment and hurt Harry felt when Gemma visited is still fizzling behind his chest and he doesn’t really like knowing that while he’s got Millie blinking blearily at him through a computer, his mum gets to hold her and cuddle her and know that Millie knows her. Loves her.

On Tuesday, Louis sidles up right beside Harry and rests his head on Harry’s shoulder for the last half-hour of the call. Millie’s more active now, growing by the day, and after Anne helps a bemused, wide-eyed Millie wave good-bye to Harry, Louis says, “She definitely recognizes you, H. Did you see how her eyes lit up?”

“I think that was gas, probably,” Harry replies, but he knows they can both hear the bluster. He wants so badly for Millie to recognize him when they meet, and to know how much he loves her. He thinks she has a little personality, even, and looks forward every day to see how she’s changed and how she’s stayed the same.

“No,” Louis declares confidently. “She hears your voice and it’s like little Christmas lights in her head.”

“That’s weird.”

“You know what I meant. She just really brightened when you sang for her.”

Harry looks down at his hands and feels his face and chest warm with a smile. “Yeah,” he whispers. “She did, I think.”

Louis ruffles Harry’s curls, then knocks the laptop from Harry’s lap with a heavy _flump_ against the pillows. “Enough gloating about all the babies that love you! I’m starving; you need to feed me.”

“Speaking of babies who love me.”

“It’s good practice,” Louis agrees. He pulls Harry’s arms to lead him out of the room and down the stairs. “You should make me enchiladas.”

“I don’t know those,” Harry muses. “I can do tacos and burritos and fajitas, but not enchiladas.”

“Enchiladas are just skinny burritos,” Louis says dismissively. “I have faith in you.”

“Okay,” Harry laughs. “Skinny burritos it is.”

But when they get to the kitchen, they find a gaggle of girls and Paije surrounding Rebecca, passing her tissues as she cries, big wet tears that dislodge her racks of false eyelashes. Katie holds Rebecca’s hand and looks on with theatrical commiseration while Cher rubs Rebecca’s back, and Mary passes her a steaming mug of tea. Paije sits on across the table, the expression on his face more genuine than Cheryl’s girls’, at least.

“It’s just hard,” Rebecca sniffs through her thick Scouse accent. “I go home and they’ve changed so much I’m afraid the next time they won’t remember me. And usually Karl’s the one gone so it feels backward he’s there now and I’m here. They’re just growing so quick I don’t know what to do with meself once I see them now.”

Harry pauses, still bent into the refrigerator. With his hand on Harry’s back, Louis feels Harry’s muscles all tense.

“It’s just hard knowing that Lillie May’s in Year 1 now and I’ve not been there to see her to school,” Rebecca adds, and Cher and Katie both coo in sympathy and pet her a bit more vigorously. “She’s so darling in her little uniform and I’ve missed so much already.”

“Ah, you’d feel like you were missing everything even if you were home,” Mary chivvies. “Primary school flies like a blur, trust me; even if you’re there day in and out you feel like your daughter’s a new person by the time she gets home afternoons than she was in the morning.”

Rebecca sniffs. “I reckon it’s good I’ve got Karl locally to help now, but I think I’m a bit selfish since they’re mine alone most times. This is the longest we’ve ever been apart and when I think of them, they’re still just my little babies and I want to be there for them even when I can’t be.”

Harry swallows. The refrigerator door has swung shut by now and he knows he’s staring – Mary even meets his eyes – but he can’t help it: his gut is twisting around and he sees years passing as quickly and empty as a month has, and Millie growing up not knowing him by the end of the afternoon in her school uniform.

God, she’s going to have school uniforms and be a big kid. And then a teenager. And he’s going to be her dad; a father to a _teenage girl_.

Harry’s knees lock and he sways a bit, reaching for the counter behind him to steady his feet, but instead he finds Louis’ hip and Louis’ hands come out automatically to rest around Harry’s waist, holding him up.

“Tell you what,” Louis says softly in Harry’s ear, “How about we forget the enchiladas and I’ll order you a pizza and even pay, too?”

“I’m not hungry,” Harry murmurs.

“I don’t care,” Louis says. “We’ve got a movie premiere and dress rehearsal and all manner of things coming up, and you need to eat so you don’t get sick before the show again. Chicken and sweet corn, come on.”

“Extra sweet corn?” Harry asks, and Louis has the sudden crushing urge to cup Harry’s cheek in his hand and gently touch beneath his wide green eye with the tip of his thumb just to see if it would come away wet, and kiss his forehead if it did, and instead all Louis does is swallow.

“Sure. Extra sweet corn. But also extra chicken. So really just a normal ratio of sweet corn.”

“But more quantity,” Harry points out, and Louis smiles.

“Yeah.” 

Later that night, Mary finds Harry standing half-in the refrigerator later, wearing a pair of striped briefs and a purple sweatshirt and drinking directly from Katie’s jug of orange juice.

He smiles at her with a wet mustache over his lip. “This juice is terrible. It’s got bits in.”

Mary smiles back at Harry and plugs the kettle in for tea. “So, tell me, young Harry. What’s her name?”

Harry grins wider – until he dimples, and Mary thinks, _lord, if I were thirty years younger_ \-- and says, “Oh, Mary, you know you’re the only girl for me.”

Mary pats his cheek. “Except for the daughter you got back home.”

Harry’s smile falls and he pales so quickly it looks as though his stomach’s bottomed right out and taken his heart with it. His eyes go wide and very green.

“Which of the boys told you?”

“None of them, love. Just your face when Rebecca were talkin’ earlier about her own kids’ father and not being there. I raised me own daughter meself; I know that face well. There’s not a happy family in the lot of us, is there?”

Harry’s still pale, but he licks his lip and Mary can see his chest rise as he finally inhales. “Was it too hard? Having a kid alone?”

“That depends,” Mary says. The kettle whistles softly and she takes down two mugs. “Are you thinking of leaving your girl’s mother, or are you being left?”

“We were never together,” Harry mumbles. “But I guess you could say she’s left me.”

“Then no.” Mary smiles as she pours two mugs of strong tea, no sugars, no milk. “I loved not having to share a moment. Everything me daughter does right; I know it’s down to me. And it’s taken me a while to get meself back, but now I have, I know that everything I do right, it’s down to her.”

Harry holds the tea in both hands, tucking his face down close to the steam. The moment he thinks about his daughter is spelled bright across his face in the soft, small smile and faraway eyes that seem to glow in the heat of the tea and the lateness of the evening. “Her name’s Millie.”

“That’s a right good name,” Mary says. “How old is she?”

“Only just three weeks,” Harry says, smiling around the lip of his mug. 

“Well, that’s tiny!” Mary sets her tea down on the counter. “Have you even met her?”

“Not in person,” Harry says. “But on Skype, almost every day. She’s with my mum. And I talk to her and all. And she’s met Zayn and Louis, too.”

“Not Niall and Liam?”

“Liam has a hard time wrapping his head around her,” Harry says sagely. “And I think Niall would make her tired.”

“Aye, he’s like to do that,” Mary sighs, leaning back against the counter with tea in hand once again. “He makes everyone a bit tired, don’t he?”

“He’s a good boy,” Harry says, nodding, and leans back against the refrigerator with his own tea. “They’re mostly all good. They could have dumped me when I told them, couldn’t they? But I’m glad they didn’t.”

“Does Simon not know, then?”

Harry is quiet and takes a long sip of his tea.

“D’you think that’s wise?”

“I just don’t want to jinx anything,” Harry says. “I feel like – basically, I guess it’s like walking a, what are they called? At the circus? The high wires? I feel like everything’s on a high wire and it could all make each other better or all get really bad fast.”

Mary chuckles. “Harry, love. You’re gonna feel that way for nigh at least the next eighteen years.”

“What’s the hardest part?” Harry asks, quiet and earnest and wholly too young, Mary thinks, for this question. “What do I need to know?”

“The hardest part is remembering that she’s her own person,” Mary says, and smiles sadly. “And that’s not always going to be a person that you understand. And it might not even always be a person that you like. But lord help you, no matter who she is, you’ve gotta love her and you’re gonna love her, and you’ve just got to make your peace with knowing that try as you might, you can’t just mold her into a little version of yourself.”

“Well, I don’t want her to be me,” Harry mumbles. “If she has a kid at sixteen, I might kill someone.”

“In all seriousness, Harry.” Harry meets her eyes, and Mary rests her hand on his arm. “You’ve got to let her grow how she will, and you gotta let yourself grow, too. Or you’re just going to be miserable, both. And you’re too bright a star for that.”

Harry’s brow pinches. “Thanks.”

They each sip their tea in silence, and when the mugs are lukewarm, Harry finally speaks again. “Do you want to see a picture?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Harry reaches into his kangaroo pocket and produces his iPhone, scrolling quickly through pictures – Mary can see quite a few of Louis, and some of Zayn and Niall, one or two of Liam, and one that makes her eyes and eyebrows shoot up and Harry blushes, muttering, “just ignore that; long story” – before he finds a folder buried deep on the phone and shows her a drooling baby with huge green eyes and not a strand of hair, wearing a onepiece emblazoned with little mice and lying out on her round belly.

“That’s from today,” Harry says proudly. “Mum said that she lifted her head up a bit during tummy time and all.”

“Oh, Harry, she’s darling,” Mary says. “And I’ll just bet that when her hair comes in, it’s with your curls. She’s going to be a right heartbreaker with those eyes.”

“She’ll grow into them eventually,” Harry says defensively. “I did.”

“No, she’s really lovely. Is she healthy?”

“She came about three weeks early, so she’s fairly small,” Harry says, smiling at his phone. He slips it back into the kangaroo pocket. “The doctors said that she’s alright, though, but Mum’s got to take her in for a check-up on Thursday. It was supposed to be Friday but then I’d worry about her so much I wouldn’t be able to sing again.”

“Three weeks,” Mary says as her brows knit. “Is that why you fell ill during the second live show? Was she born then?”

“Yeah, that night,” Harry says. “It was too early, so I was just too scared to rehearse in the morning. I think Liam was angry with me.”

“Well, if he was, he can just bugger off,” Mary says dismissively. “He’ll know someday what it feels like to be worried about his own child.”

“It’s weird,” Harry muses, settling his empty mug on the counter, “But for all that Liam is the sensible one, I feel sometimes lately as though maybe I’m the most mature.”

“And ye are,” Mary agrees. “You have to be. Your whole soul’s in a different place than the other boys, and that’s no fault of theirs or weakness of yours. You’re a dad. That’s just a different place than being a teenager.”

“But I’m both, still,” Harry points out. “I can still have fun with the boys.”

“Don’t I know it,” Mary snorts. “Can you please stop drawing willies on everything in the house? And maybe put some trousers on once in a blue moon?”

“Never,” Harry swears, and he grins with all the dimples again and giggles. He sobers a bit, but the smile in his eyes doesn’t falter. “Is it stupid if I say that basically, I just don’t hope it makes me grow up too fast?”

“It’s a little naïve,” Mary says. “But I hope that doesn’t leave you.” She yawns. “And speaking of being young, you seem wide awake, but I’m dead knackered. I’m going to bed.”

“Alright.” Harry nods. “Mary? Can you not tell the others, please? I’d like to keep her to myself for as long as I can.”

“Your secrets are all safe with me, love,” Mary says, and she rubs his arm genially. 

“Thank you,” Harry says softly. “I appreciate it all. G’night.”

“Good night, Harry. Don’t stay up too late putting Niall’s hand in warm water, or whatever it is you lads get up to in that room.”

Harry giggles again. “I won’t. Promise.”

Mary waves as she heads up the stairs, and Harry feels comforted in a way he hasn’t in weeks, like all of the tense muscles in his shoulders and belly have finally been able to let go of some stress and relax. He opens the fridge again and absconds with Katie’s pulpy orange juice, set to go upstairs and drink it in the bath as he talks to Louis.

•••

The fierce side of the tabloids comes out in force after Week Five, just as they always do – but it’s harder to see it about his own housemates than Harry would have guessed; he knows that from the outside, the Sun and the Daily Fail are just good kindling and a laugh around the school hallways, but from the inside, watching people find out which of their friends sold their lives to a reporter for a few dozen pounds… it’s terrible.

And it’s scary. He texts Clare almost constantly, asking if she needs _anything_ , anything at all, and has the payment for her hospital bill come through, and has the tuition for her retake courses posted, until she finally asks him to _stop babe, please just…we need to move on ya? x voting n wishing luck but lemme go xx_

“Let her go?” Harry slurs drunkenly that night, leaning mostly on Zayn but arse on Louis. “She’s let me go, isn’t that it? Like, like, like, like basically, I’m a balloon. I’m a balloon at the fair, basically, and she’s let me go and she says to let her go but balloons can’t let people go, only people let balloons go and I’m – I’m a balloon. She’s popped me.”

“That metaphor got right weird there at the end,” Zayn comments, petting Harry’s hair and snorting a laugh. 

Harry pouts and flops over so his head is nestled on Zayn’s lap, all the better for getting his hair pet. “It’s just, like… but I feel guilty and I feel bad. ‘Cause Millie’s _amazing_ , mate. Isn’t she amazing? She’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, scratching Harry behind the ear. “She is.”

“She’s amazing!” Harry agrees fervently. “I want to cuddle her and… smell her hair. ‘Cause telly told me baby hair smells good. And she’s amazing! And I just – why doesn’t Clare think she’s amazing?”

“Because Millie’s not her baby, Harry,” Louis says gently, and squeezes Harry’s knee. “Millie’s _your_ baby. But Clare doesn’t want a baby, so Millie isn’t hers. She doesn’t have to think she’s amazing.”

“Everyone should think Millie’s amazing,” Harry mumbles darkly. “Do you think she’s amazing? ‘Cause she is. And I want her, even if – Clare doesn’t, and is that why Clare doesn’t want me? She wants me to _let her go_ , did you know?”

Louis chuckles softly through his nose and lifts Harry’s heavy legs up into a better position over his lap. “I did know. And yes, that’s probably part of why Clare doesn’t want you.”

“I should – I should – I should let her go then.” Harry struggles to sit upright. “I should just go… and… fuck someone else. And let Clare go. By fucking someone else. I should – I’m gonna go find the dancers. Or Cher!”

“No, Harry,” Zayn and Louis say in one voice, pulling him back down into their laps after he attempts to lumber off. 

“Spite is the opposite of letting someone go.” Zayn nods sagely.

Louis pets Harry’s hair as he grumbles pitifully into the hood of his sweatshirt. “And you’re not mad for your own sake, anyway. You’re mad ‘cause you think Millie will be.”

“Millie can’t be mad.” Harry’s eyes flutter closed, but his voice is earnest and small. “She’s just a little baby. She doesn’t know mad yet.”

And he promptly falls asleep. Zayn helps Louis heave Harry into his own bunk and they roll him onto his side, just in case, while Harry snuffles and drags the blankets up to cradle his ear as he cuddles his pillow like a teddy bear.

“Baby indeed,” Zayn snorts, and Louis chucks his shoulder before racing him to the bathroom for a first run at brushing his teeth while the room still feels semi-clean.

The next morning, Harry rolls out of bed and onto the floor and crawls into the bathroom, locking the doors behind him. He misses the hubbub in the kitchens at the _shocking_ exposé that Matt had actually grown up fairly well-off, not a poor painter-decorator like his show bio claimed, and still doesn’t understand how that was a problem, really, even after Louis explains it over a greasy cheeseburger lunch.

“It just shows how deep they’ll go to get scoops, doesn’t it?” Louis drags his chips through some mayonnaise. “That’s like, bank records, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” Harry hedges, picking at the edge of his burger bun, “Could just be they finally looked up tuition at Matt’s school. I mean, that’s not secret.”

Niall clears his throat and peers at Harry carefully over the edge of his water glass. “Neither are birth certificates.”

Harry looks down at his plate. “Millie’s isn’t – it’s not signed. Not yet. Thought it’d be best.”

“Can’t Clare choose to take her, then, if she changes her mind?” Liam asks. 

Harry’s head snaps up. “She won’t. I don’t think. She wouldn’t, she really – she won’t.” He looks down again and shrugs a little. “And I’m listed, anyway, even though I haven’t signed. So I could, you know, go sign it and – move from there.”

“But can’t people see then you’re listed?” Niall stares at Harry with his head cocked just a bit, trying to urge Harry to look up again just using his eyes. “It’s not like – you know, when a kid’s adopted and they can’t ever see their parents’ names, is it?”

“No, but – ” Harry shrugs again. “I don’t know that anyone will be looking. I don’t think it’s like, filed, until I’m listed. I dunno. I don’t – if they leak it, then I guess I’ll just, I’ll bow out? If – ”

“If it gets out, then I’ve got a bigger story to sell,” Zayn says firmly, quietly, from his spot at the corner of the table. “It’ll distract them. I promise. ‘Specially if you’re not official-like yet.”

Liam’s brows furrow. “If it makes us look bad, though, then – what did you do?”

“Not me,” Zayn assures him, “Wagner. I seen him doing drug deals at the studio. Simon will be _well_ ticked off.”

“Have you really?” Louis asks. “Like, weed, or like, actual drugs?”

“I dunno that,” Zayn says, shrugging. “I just seen it in the corner when I’m talking to the dancers.”

“I’ve never seen that!” Liam exclaims, “And I’m talking to Danielle all the time! I’ve seen Wagner there, talking to a friend, but – oh. _Oh_.”

“Little Liam’s growing up!” Louis crows, leaning across the table to ruffle Liam’s hair and getting an elbow full of brown sauce for his trouble as his arm drags across Niall’s plate. Niall bellows like a wounded calf and even Harry has to crack a smile.

On their way to rehearsal, sitting in London traffic in one of the X Factor vans, Liam looks up with a thoughtful quirk to his lips. 

“A little scandal is good,” he muses. “Like Cher or like, like, I dunno, Gamu? They’re interesting, when you read the paper at home. Keeps people tuning in and voting. Simon cares about that. Like… he doesn’t like boring people.”

“Yeah, but he wants the show to be a talent show, too,” Niall argues. “He’s not going to keep someone just for the drama. Like when he sent Emily Nakanda home two years ago.”

Louis leans forward in his seat. “That’s different; she beat the hell out of someone!” 

“I’m just saying,” Niall holds up his hands in placation, “He keeps people for little dramas, not big ones.”

“I don’t think he keeps people for drama at all,” Zayn says. “Kicked off Danyl last year and Alan Turner two ago. I think he wants a clean enough show. That’s why he threatened Liam about Danielle, and all.”

“Well, I still think Simon courts a little scandal,” Niall insists. “Just a little.”

That night, Harry smiles at tiny Millie wriggling on her belly on the floor of his old bedroom, blue blanket spread beneath her. She’s wearing a white onesie with a curly-fleeced lamb hood, little ears and little knob tail over her round, wiggly rump, and with no small effort, she lifts her heavy head and stares right into the camera, green eyes to green eyes with her daddy.

“You are just a Little.” Harry touches the screen with one finger and Millie’s curious eyes follow the movement. “But you’re not a scandal.”

Millie blurts her lips out pink, and then, with her eyebrows raising like a jolt of inspiration, her tongue lolls out of her mouth.

“I know, you resent the whole idea,” Harry agrees. “It’s an insult to you.”

Exhausted, Millie rests her head back down again, her jiggly baby cheek cuddled up against the soft quilting of Harry’s baby blanket. She whines once, long and thin through her nose, and kicks her legs with urgency until Gemma swoops back into the frame and they disappear for a minute while drool is wiped from Millie’s chin and Gemma sets her back down comfortably on her back, staring at Harry upside-down through her lamb ears.

“You’re not, though,” Harry promises Millie fervently. He bites his lips so they turn white between his teeth and leans towards the camera, trying to get close. Millie looks cuddly and warm in her little lamb suit and Harry’s chest aches. “You’re not scandalous. You’re just a little tiny bean of a person; how could you be scandalous?”

Millie gives a high-pitched, shrieking monkey cry, and Harry laughs. “I suppose that’s true, you’re a wild little bean. Gonna be a real handful for me, huh? Are you?”Millie squeaks again, kicking her legs. Harry chuckles under his breath and touches the screen again, tracing the shape of her curled hand. “Soon, little girl. We can put on your dancing shoes and you can show me that move in person. I’m sorry I’m not there. I’ve just got to do this so I can be a good enough dad for you. I’ve got to try, anyway, not to fail you.”

Gemma’s disembodied voice floats in from off-screen. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Hazzhead. You’re like, the bookies’ second choice or something now, and everyone loves you. Millie understands. Or at least, she’s not bothered. It’s all going to turn out perfectly. Don’t worry your curly head.”

•••

Of course, nothing is that simple – that cut-and-dried – with show business. Zayn was wrong, but Gemma might not be; a little scandal turns out to be exactly what Syco and ITV are looking for, and on Sunday night, the X Factor House loses Aiden to keep Katie and her constant whinging. Her constant paparazzi calls. Her constant little dramas. She’d beaten Aiden by less than half a percent – and One Direction were only nine points ahead. And the same below Matt, who won every week, who had become a mountain in Harry’s mind that the boys were slipping trying to climb and conquer.

Aiden had dropped three places in a week. If One Direction does the same, they’ll be stuck in the final showdown – probably against Katie, who just kept chugging on, whom the newspapers said the competition was fixed to let win. She’s become another mountain, another hurdle, and if Aiden couldn’t jump them, Aiden who can sing better than anyone in the group besides Liam, Harry thinks, Aiden who had just as many girls by the fence every week… then the shape of Harry’s little scandal might prove too much after all, if it comes out.

Harry can’t enjoy the after party without Aiden there, either. The house is full of people who think One Direction are stupid little kids now, and it makes Harry want to scream that he has just as much at stake as anyone else – more, maybe; definitely more than _Katie_ \-- and Hannah is there, taking up all of the space on Louis’ lap. Harry likes Hannah well enough as a person, but she’s sitting right where Harry wants to be sitting and if he can’t sit there, then he’ll go up to his room alone.

“Hey,” Louis whispers, crawling up the length of Harry’s bed and plastering himself to Harry’s back, arms and legs snaked around like an octopus, “Harry… what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m just…” Harry exhales and it shudders all the way down. “If Aiden can go, anyone really can, can’t we? Like, it could be our last week, and we wouldn’t know. It seems like people like us, but – everyone liked Aiden, too. Aiden’s great.” His voice almost disappears. “I’m not so great.”

“Oh, Harold,” Louis sighs, nuzzling his nose into the warm space behind Harry’s ear. “Don’t get depressive. I’m sure Aiden will keep in touch as we gallivant off around Europe being pop sensations.”

“I’m serious, Lou,” Harry mutters. “If this is it – if – we don’t win, then… I’ve got nothing to show for being gone. I’ve got no education. Minimum wage job all hours. No flat, just one room in my mum’s house. No money. And a tiny little baby who’s depending on me. If we’re out, then – I’m really stuck. I’m just – like Aiden talking about it being okay ‘cause he’s uni plans and all, but – I haven’t got uni plans. I haven’t even done my A-levels. My plan is to win the X Factor, but I can’t control that, can I?”

“Would you feel better knowing I haven’t got another plan?” Louis asks. He kicks Harry’s ankle playfully.

“Not really, no,” Harry says. “‘Cause then we’re letting you down, too.”

“No, never,” Louis says. “Time of my life, this. Couldn’t ever regret it, whatever happens. But,” Louis pauses and swallows, but knows that his voice turns shy, “I wouldn’t mind if – you know, whatever does happen, after this, whenever that is, I wouldn’t mind maybe getting a flatshare in Manchester or Sheffield or summat. Or maybe London, if you’ve taken a shine to it. I like babies and I can do uni wherever’ll take me, I’m not particular.” 

Harry pauses for a long time and Louis wonders whether he’s fallen asleep. 

But then Harry murmurs, “Are you just having me on to cheer me up?”

“No,” Louis says, and he’s surprised that he’s telling the truth. “I want to keep living with you. You let me drink orange juice in the bath, and I don’t think anyone else would do.”

“You know she’s a _real_ baby, right?” Harry says. “Not like, a doll or a puppy or something? She’ll cry at night. And we’d have to babyproof all the drawers and cabinets and stairs and all. And there’ll be nappies and spit-up and – and crying at night, and teething, and crying. At night.”

“Will she cry at night, Hazz?” Louis asks, amused. “Will she sometimes also cry during the daytime?”

“Shut up, Louis,” Harry says. “I’m being serious. Just, I’m saying, it wouldn’t be like here. It wouldn’t probably be fun. Unless you really fancy changing diapers and being up all night.”

“Harry, I have _four_ little sisters. I can guarantee I’ve changed more diapers in my lifetime than you’ve even seen yet.” Louis kicks Harry’s ankle again and this time, Harry kicks back. “I am serious, Harry, if you want. I’d be really happy to live with you, whatever happens here, and maybe we could take turns on school and working part time if we need it. Or something,” Louis mutters, blushing a little at the ‘we’ and the domesticity of it all. Millie isn’t _his_ baby, and Harry isn’t his – whatever. 

Harry swallows. He rolls over so that he’s facing Louis and notices that his cheeks and the tips of his ears are pink like he’s blushing. “Why’d you be willing to do that?”

“‘Cause you’re a good guy,” Louis says, eyes trained carefully on the dip at the base of Harry’s throat and not at his face. “And I really don’t have plans, and. I do like babies. And you should get to have a plan and it should include nice things, and I’m a very nice thing. Except sometimes when I drink, and then I get a bit – ”

“Opinionated?” offers Harry.

“I was actually going to change it and say that I start to crack wise,” Louis sniffs. “But I don’t know. You’re sad and I don’t want you sad. Popstars shouldn’t be sad, and we are going to be _mega_ popstars.”

“Oh, shut up, Lou,” Harry mutters again, but this time there’s no heat behind it at all, just a soft warmth like a purr. He closes his eyes and rolls back a bit so that Louis can rearrange himself on Harry’s chest, ear over his heart, and wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulders. “You’re gonna jinx us.”

“Nah,” Louis shrugs as his own eyes close. “We’ve got the luck of the Irish. Have I told you my theory that our Nialler is really a leprechaun?”

“You haven’t.”

“I’ll have to do that come morning,” Louis yawns. “Which reminds me that I’ll need your help testing out the hypothesis. What’s your philosophy on human testing? Or, well, leprechaun testing?”

“Depends what we’re doing to him,” Harry murmurs. “Lipstick, yes. Markup of a penis on his face, yes. Warm water, yes. Cutting his hair, no. And I don’t want to touch his pants.”

“That’s why I want to live with you,” Louis whispers, turning his face in to Harry’s chest. “You’re quite sage.”

“Thyme and rosemary, too.”

“And parsley.”

Harry tightens his arm around Louis’ shoulders and chucks his chin over the crown of Louis’ head. “Good night, Lewis.”

Louis absolutely doesn’t take a big, deep sniff of Harry’s soft, worn sweatshirt where his face is resting and could not cuddle Harry any less and does not, at all, let his lips brush against Harry’s collarbone and the skin of his neck as he whispers, “Good night, Harold.”

•••

>   
> **BLIND ITEM: This teenage reality show cherub might not be such an angel**  
>  _AND IT AIN’T: Levi Johnston, Liam Payne, Andrew Edmonds_  
>  Every week, teenage girls tune into this hot “reality” program in droves, but NOBODY KNOWS quite why… unless it’s SOMETHING ABOUT THE WAY this foppish cutie looks, all doe-eyed and innocent. But this little darling’s name has just been listed to a birth certificate in his backwater hometown… say it ain’t so! Apparently the new-minted teenage stud has a newborn baby, and the high-powered producers of his fame machine have no idea. Baby-daddy better hope he wins the big pot at the end of the show, because it sounds like he’s been LIVING THE LIFE a little too hard for his tender years!

The five boys sit huddled on Harry’s bed, all staring at the obnoxious, blinking purple ads along the side of the blind item.

“Well,” Liam says finally, “At least it ain’t me.”

“How does that help?” Harry hisses, while Louis smacks the back of Liam’s head. “ _It ain’t_ you, but but _it is_ me and there really aren’t that many choices. No matter what, it looks like one of us since they used about half our songs.”

“Why’d they say ‘Living the Life,’ though?” Liam asks. “That’s not ours.”

“That’s what ‘Viva la Vida’ means, Payner,” Niall explains, and even through the tension in the room, Louis has a hard time stifling his laughter at the toneless patronization in his tone.

Harry can’t laugh. He curls up tightly enough that his face rests on his knees. “I’m gonna get killed at the studio. I’ve twenty minutes left to live and I haven’t even got to see the damn baby. I’m gonna die.”

“You’re not going to die.” Zayn taps away at his cell phone blithely. “I’ve just e-mailed the Sun the info about Wagner, and a picture of him being creepy at the house, so that should cover it. With a photo and that, ‘s gotta be worth more.”

Louis sucks a breath through his teeth. “An angry Simon will turn the whole week to shit.”

“Better to turn it to shit for everyone than just Harry.” Zayn shrugs. “We can turn up and watch the show. Get Wagner out too, that prick.”

“‘I was a man before you were born,’” all five boys chorus, in heavily affected Brazilian-English accents, and even Harry has to crack half a smile.

When they pile out of the van, Harry hesitates, clings just a moment to his phone and a photo of Millie that Anne had sent him the day before when she made the funniest little absurd face, one eyebrow pulled down low and puffed out lips like she was sassy dialed up on the screen.

“C’mon,” Louis urges quietly, holding out his hand. “It’ll be okay.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	5. Chapter 5

And somehow, it _is_.

When they walked into the studio for their Week 7 dress rehearsals, Harry fully expected to be taken right out for questioning – and maybe disqualification. Instead, One Direction slipped through the day almost unnoticed as the entire production flies into a frenzy over a wholly different scandal that hit the front pages, not the blind items, complete with photo and video evidence.

“I never thought I would say this,” Niall comments on their way home again, giddy with trepid relief, “But god bless prostitute grannies.”

“That’s not fair,” Louis says, “Katie’s really upset.” His eyes flick over to Harry. “But all the same, god bless Katie Waissel’s prostitute gran.”

“We could still end up in the bottom two Sunday,” Harry points out, even as his fingers knit tightly together and his cheeks dimple. “Or they could be holding to follow up Katie’s scandal with – well, basically, they could confirm and break Millie’s story whenever.”

Zayn sobers a bit and nods. “True.”

But Liam just grins and nudges Harry’s shoulder with his own. “Lighten up a bit, Harry. This is enough to tide them over at least a week. And nothing’s really as bad as having a pornstar grandmother.”

“Is she a pornstar, too?” Niall asks curiously. “Oh, I missed that part.”

“I know what we’re Googling back at the house!” Louis yells, bouncing up and down in his seat.

Zayn tackles Louis down onto the seat and covers his mouth, only pulling away with a groan after Louis thoroughly licks his palm, but Harry just smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I think I’m gonna call my mum straight off, if it’s all the same to you lot. I just need to talk to her.”

Niall drags Harry’s head down to rub it with the side of his own. It’s a strange thing he does, Harry thinks, all of this headcuddling, and sometimes it’s a bit like getting a very affectionate noogie, but Harry appreciates it all the same. “Of course we understand it, Harry. You should go home for a visit after Sunday, just like a few days, the way Rebecca does, yeah?”

“No.” Harry shakes his head. “I know myself. Basically, if I go home and meet Millie now, I’ll never want to leave and come back here. There’s just a few weeks left anyway. We can hold on.”

“Anyway, if we make the finals, we’ll have home visits,” Liam points out. “We can see if overnight could be Holmes Chapel. If we make it that far.”

Harry’s eyes light up. “If we make it that far.”

“We will,” Louis says confidently. “If I were a betting man, odds of 5/2 as outright winners say that I’d bet on us.”

Back at the house, Liam, Niall, and Zayn all tromp off to the kitchen right away, but Louis hangs back to scratch his fingers through Harry’s hair in just the way he likes. Harry rumbles a soft, rolling moan in the bottom of his throat and Louis’ stomach clenches.

“D’you want me to wait with you while you talk to your mum?”

“No, thanks, Tommo.” Harry smiles at him and tilts his head to offer the warm space behind one ear for scratches. “But will you put my vote in for pizza?”

“The odds are 9/1 that Niall will say yes,” Louis says, and pats Harry’s cheek with perhaps a bit more force than necessary.

Harry winces, but doesn’t bat Louis’ hands away, instead choosing to give him a swift smack in the balls as he runs past.

When he dials up his family on Skype, there’s no answer. And Harry _knows_ , he knows, not to panic; it’s half-seven, it’s dinner hour, it’s not fair for him to expect them to be available at his beck and call while he’s so far away… but all the same, his heart starts pounding and he logs off, logs in again, and tries a second time. All that happens is the Skype ring bubbling along by itself until it rings off, and Harry’s already got his phone in his hand, dialing Gemma’s number. No answer. By the time his mother picks up her phone, Harry’s worked himself into a right state.

“Where were you?” he demands. “I tried to Skype but no one answered!”

“Oh, I’m sorry sweetheart,” Anne clucks. “It was bathtime for Millie, so I was busy with her. Gemma and your stepdad are out.”

Harry exhales, and he’s mortified by how shaky the breath comes out. “She’s okay?”

Anne’s voice comes out soft and soothing, the same voice she used on Harry when he was young and came home from school with scrapes and bruises from football or a broken heart because Sarah moved away. “She’s just _fine_ , darling. Clean and warm and cozy and having her nighttime meal.”

Harry rakes his hand over his eyes. “Can I see her? Please?”

“Sure, Harry,” Anne assures him, “Let me just get set up by the laptop. She might not be very attentive, I’m afraid. She’s really enjoying this bottle.” Her voice moves away from the phone. “Aren’t you, little sweetie? Is that so good for your hungry little tummy? Yes, yes, yes.”

“Mum,” Harry mumbles, “The papers know. The – someone told. Someone told this website about – about me being a dad.”

There’s a moment of silence. Millie burbles once, satisfied, in the background. 

“I didn’t see anything this morning,” Anne says. “I always look at all of the news about you.”

“It wasn’t by name,” Harry mutters. “It was one of those – they call them ‘blind items,’ where basically they’re pretty sure about a story but not positive, so they post it without the names so they can’t get sued in case it turns out to be false.”

“It’s not a very good week over at the X Factor House, is it?” Anne asks. Harry hears her moving around, setting up the laptop so he can see his baby. “What with Matt turning out not to be poor, though I don’t see how that’s a scandal really, and Katie’s gran. _That_ , I did see this morning.”

“It’s probably what saved my arse this morning,” Harry admits. “Since that’s confirmed and I’m not. But Mum, we might – if they can confirm it, we might get disqualified or something. We’ll definitely get voted out.”

“You may not,” Anne says. “You’re a beautiful boy with a beautiful baby; there are worse things. People might find it admirable that you’re choosing to raise her yourself, too.”

Harry just grunts.

Anne’s voice gentles again. “It is admirable, darling. Clare gets to live _her life_ the way _she_ wants, and you’re taking responsibility for your own role in the lot. I don’t know that you believe me, but I’m proud of you.”

Harry just sighs. “Can I see Millie, please?”

“Sure. We’ll see you in a moment.”

Harry hangs up his phone after his mother clicks off, and the bubbling sound of Skype begins. He hits the icon to pick up the video call, and there’s Millie, curled in Anne’s lap, blithely looking sideways at the camera as she drinks her bottle. Her sleepy eyes glow warm green, her hair is beginning to come in with soft brown curls over her forehead and around her little shell ears, her warm romper suit is pale blue to match Harry’s baby blanket and emblazoned with smiling rainclouds and little red-and-white toadstools. She waves her arm at the camera when she sees Harry, and he hiccoughs a sad, wet laugh and waves back.

“I really needed to see your little face,” he whispers. “I love you so much, little bean.”

Millie works her fingers like chubby, pale spiderlings.

“She loves you, too, Harry,” Anne reassures him. “And so do I. And Gemma, and Robin. Your boys. We all love you so much, sweetpea, no matter what happens.”

Harry watches Millie cycle her fat legs happily, not a care in the world. To her, everything was simple: a warm bottle and soft pajamas, her daddy’s voice singing her songs, grandma and Auntie Gemma keeping her cozy and safe; what could possibly be bad?

“I hope so,” Harry whispers, and settles back against the corner post of Louis’ bed to watch as Millie finishes eating and falls asleep. 

“I know so,” Anne says confidently, and Harry knows she’s smiling even though he can’t see it. “To quote the song you think I don’t know you’re singing this week: _all you need is love_ , H, and everything will be alright in the end.”

•••

“I can’t believe Simon is ditching us!” Liam carps, punching his mattress the next Monday after they’ve made it through Beatles week – and so, incredibly, had Katie, skyrocketing to second place, which gave them all a bit of swooping hope that maybe, just maybe, more than a little scandal was good after all.

“On the upside,” Louis offers, “We get to choose our own songs so we’ll be shot of Louis Walsh and Simon ribbing at each other about it.”

“But we’ve got to pick _two_ ,” Niall groans, and flops face-first down on the bed. “And learn two! And choreograph two!”

Harry looks up from where he’s collapsed with his head on Louis’ shoulder. “Could I – I mean, you can say no, but… basically, I’d like to kind of, sing one of the songs as like, acknowledgement of Clare and like, home, and just, to say thanks for supporting me after everything?”

Louis rubs Harry’s arm. “Sure, yeah. I’m good with that.”

“What’s the song?” Liam asks. “Not Stevie Wonder?”

“No,” Harry says, and his face colors pink. “That’s – I feel like that’s more, like, that’s private for me and Millie. No, I was thinking… maybe ‘Summer of 69’? That’s what my band used to sing, and I know – I know they’ve dropped me, and I understand that, but Millie would exist if it weren’t for the band being a thing, and like, I don’t know if _we_ ’d be here without her, because basically, I feel like… we’ve bonded differently?” He shakes his head. “I dunno, ‘s stupid.”

But they’re all smiling.

“It’s not stupid, Hazza,” Niall says, and clambers down from his own bunk to lounge across Harry’s, blond head in Harry’s lap. Louis strikes out and tickles Niall something _fierce_ , making him flail and accidentally whack Harry hard in the nose with his elbow. 

The next few minutes are a ruckus of apologies and bleeding and sopping up injuries with someone’s shirt and an ancillary punch to the spleen and finding paper towels, and the doctor has to be called to make sure Harry’s nose hasn’t broken (it hasn’t). 

After, when they’ve rearranged on the beds again and Harry has a cold compress on his face as he rests with his head on Louis’ legs, Liam says, _yeah, we can do ‘Summer of 69,’_ as though they’d never been interrupted.

It’s hard to rehearse without Simon there to direct, but – Harry feels somehow _saved_ all the same. It’s like if Simon isn’t there to catch them all in Harry’s great lie, then they’ll make it that much closer; of course, it’s really the tabloids that they need to worry about, and the Sun doesn’t really care whether Simon’s in New York or London or the North Pole. In the end, the relief is evident on Harry’s face and in the strength of his vocals and vitality of his carriage, and they bounce right back up to third group called.

 _They’re in the semi-final_. They record their Winner’s Single ahead of time, and it’s mind-boggling to think that this could be their song on the radio; this could be _their song_ taking the Christmas #1. They work with producers and promoters to plot out the journey to all five of their hometowns, and Harry cries when he tells his mum that they’ll be spending the night in Holmes Chapel if they make it through.

“When, darling,” Anne glows. “ _When_ you make it through to the final. I’m so proud!”

“Don’t jinx us,” Harry begs, but he’s mostly joking. There’s a thread of confidence tying all of the boys together this week, running into the ninth live show, and they feel unstoppable until –

Zayn gets the call that his grandfather has died. And he leaves. He goes home for the funeral and to sit in mourning.

Harry feels badly for him. He does. But all the same, he curls up with Louis under the blankets for comfort and hisses in Louis’ ear, “I missed my fucking _baby being born_ for this show and he can’t miss a funeral?”

Louis clenches his lips and doesn’t say anything. It’s not his baby or his granddad; he won’t take sides in the band. He just threads his fingers through Harry’s curls and natters off some stupid story about Stan’s first rollercoaster ride at Cleethorpe’s Beach until Harry is laughing.

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry yawns. “You’re good at distracting.”

Louis winks. “Everyone’s got to have a talent.” 

Harry smiles sleepily and cuddles in close to give Louis a squeeze and a single, soft kiss at the base of his neck. Louis holds his breath, hoping Harry can’t feel the change in his heartbeat, as the other boy slithers out of Louis’ bed and pads up the ladder to his own bunk above.

“G’night, Lou,” Harry mumbles. Their bed creaks as Harry settles into his own narrow bunk.

Louis squeaks, shakes his head, and tries again. “Good night, Hazzhead.”

They rehearse without Zayn for the next two days, and even though they sound _good_ , they don’t sound _right_.

Harry’s resigned himself to losing out in the semi-final. He’s sat on Louis’ bed again, connected to Skype and watching Millie burble placidly on her belly in a blue bunny romper suit, when the One Direction bedroom door creaks open and Zayn shoulders his way through.

His eyes are rimmed in red, and it makes his eyelashes look extra dark and thick. “Hey.”

“Zayn, I – we weren’t expecting you back. Yet,” Harry stammers. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says. He drops his duffel bag back on his bunk. “I mean, it sucks. But. I’ve gotta be here to learn the songs by tomorrow.”

“We’d’ve understood,” Harry says graciously, and Millie’s brow furrows on the screen like she can tell he’s lying, just a bit.

“I just thought, you know, it’s like – circle of life,” Zayn muses. “Like, we all do things for our family, but. I did what I could. And it’s cheesy, but I feel like you’re my four brothers now and you’re family, so I got to help you do what you can for yours.” He shrugs and digs his toe into a seam in the floor.

Harry’s cheeks dimple. “Come here, you,” he demands, “You’re getting a cuddle whether you like it or not. Millie demands it.”

Zayn smiles with his lips closed and twisted into a half-grimace as Harry nuzzles his face playfully into Zayn’s neck, babbling right along with Millie. On Harry’s computer screen, Millie blows an impressive spit-bubble and lets it pop, stringing out of her mouth with amusement, as she watches them through the little camera, and Zayn can’t help but to smile at her for real.

“We’re gonna win, Millie,” he whispers conspiratorially. “I’m going to meet you, and your dad’s gonna cry.” He pulls a silly face at her and nods knowingly. “Your daddy’s a weeper.”

“I’m not a _weeper_!” Harry shoves his shoulder, then rests his head down on it, pulling Zayn in for a comfortable snuggle because really, they all felt off when he was gone. “I’m just healthily self-aware.”

Millie yells _myah!_ and bucks her leg like a punk rock drummer.

And that’s how Harry knows he’s lost. He probably is a weeper.

•••

Harry isn’t actually sure what happens at their signing in Wolverhampton. He doesn’t remember the live feed to Ireland, either, but that’s alright since it’s all about Niall. He can tell the other boys are over the moon sitting in HMV, autographing photo after photo and slipcovers for the “Heroes” single. And they should be over the moon; it’s their first time really being, really feeling like, popstars. Like… this could be their lives.

And it could be Harry’s, too, and he’s happy, but the reality of his life is coming in the evening at his mum’s house. He can’t eat anything when they stop at Subway for lunch somewhere along the M6. Zayn and Niall and Louis keep reaching over to ruffle his hair or rub his shoulders or tweak at his cheek, trying to make him smile. Sometimes it works. But really, his stomach is tied in fierce knots.

“I’m surprised you haven’t thrown up,” Liam comments around a bite of turkey sub. “You do that when you’re nervous.”

“It’s why I’m not eating,” Harry admits, hands slipping into the pocket of his navy blue hoodie so he can rub at his jumping tummy. 

“Can we not talk about throwing up while we’re trying to eat lunch?” Niall huffs. “Making me lose my appetite.” The size of his next bite of meatball marinara belies his words, and even Harry can’t help but to chuckle.

When they get back on the road and leave Stafford, Harry gets quiet and curls into himself, forehead rested against the windowpane as he watches the Northern countryside -- _picturesque_ \-- thin out, the buildings in Stoke-on-Trent giving way to muddied winter green.

Up in the front rows of the van, Zayn, Liam, and Niall are playing a raucous game of multiplayer Modern Warfare on their DS’s, but Louis kind of sucks at the game anyway, so he crawls over the back of the seat (and gets a ringing smack on the arse from Niall for his trouble, causing him nearly to kick Zayn in the eye) and sits next to Harry. He tries to give him a little space, the chance to tell Louis to go away, but Harry doesn’t look up.

Louis gently rests his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “So what are we looking at out here, Curly? Tell me about beautiful Cheshire. Give me the deluxe tour.”

Harry sighs, but lifts his head. He taps the window with his knuckle. “There’s a good park in Sandbach here. By Dingle Lake. That’s – where I was camping with Clare.” His face flushes a bit pink. “Maybe come spring, I’ll take Millie to play at the park. Just come full-circle.”

“Hey, come spring, we’ll be jetsetting international popstars,” Louis protests. “Don’t forget.”

Harry’s lips turn up in half a smile, and Louis considers that an achievement.

“What else is here? What should I be on the lookout for as a tourist attraction?”

“Well, you’ve really seen most of it,” Harry says, “Over summer at the Bungalow. I mean, that’s basically really it.”

“Just cow-murderers?”

Harry cracks a laugh. “Pretty much!” He looks thoughtful. “Maybe we can stay long enough tomorrow to get a Chinese. What time are we due at Bradford?”

“Half-eleven,” Louis says. “So probably not.”

Harry’s face falls. “That’s so early. We’ve no time here at all, really.”

Louis hums and urges Harry’s head down to rest against his shoulder, stroking Harry’s curly hair. “We’ve got the night. And in two weeks, after the final, we’ll be back.”

“But then on tour,” Harry says. His pupils are huge when he looks up at Louis. “I’ve no idea still how we’re gonna pull off the tour. I’m _not_ leaving her behind with my mum again; _I’m not_.” He shakes his head manically. “I’m not leaving her again, Lou, I’m not.”

“Okay,” Louis soothes him, brushing at Harry’s curls. “You don’t have to. I’ll tell you what, you and I, and Millie, we can drive behind the bus everywhere in my car, okay? It’ll be fine.”

There are so many holes in the plan – more holes than plan, really; it’s not one of Louis’ best – but Harry gets some color back in his face and his eyes calm a bit. He blinks and looks up at Louis. “Thank you, Lou. I don’t know how you’re being so nice about all this all the time. But I don’t think – ” he blushes a bit – “I don’t know I could’ve got through this without you.”

Louis smiles and tries not to show that his heart’s grown three sizes in his chest, warm and pleased and ticklish-soft. “Glad to be of service.”

The van takes the roundabout turn onto the Middlewich A54 and the scenery outside the windows is pure green and a glowing blue Northern sky, and Harry rests his head on Louis’ shoulder again for the last ten minutes of the ride.

The crowd outside of Harry’s house is _huge_. 

“The Harveys’ garden’s all smashed,” Harry mumbles gleefully as they get shunted out of the van by bodyguards and propelled through the screaming masses. “Serves them right for planting lilies when I’ve got a cat.”

“Harry! Harry, we love you! Harry, Harry!”

“Louis, oh my god; it’s _Louis_!”

“Liam Payne! I’ve loved you for two years! I drove out all the way to Dudley to see you and Peter Andre!”

“This is crazy!” yells Zayn, grinning.

“ _Oh my god, it’s Zayn Malik_ , look, I’ve got your name painted on m’face!”

Harry grins in spite of his own bubbling nerves, signing autographs and kissing hands, the roar from the crowd the unbelievable chant of _Niall, we love you_ and _Oh my god, it’s Harry, I love you so much!_.

And then –

“Oh my god, it’s Harry Styles! I’d have your babies, Harry,” a dull, cutting voice smirks from a few rows behind. Harry looks up, shocked, and there goes Will Sweeny – his old best friend, his old bandmate – barely meeting his eyes before disappearing back through the crowd and cutting across the Harvey’s lawn. Harry can just barely make out the knot of the rest of White Eskimo and Haydn’s brother, Alistair, Clare’s _real_ boyfriend, lurking at the side of the house to watch the fray.

And everything stops.

Then Niall is wrapped around Harry from behind, chivvying him along. “C’mon, Hazza, it’s not worth the frown. Let’s get on inside. You know what really matters. It’s us, okay, and it’s her. They’re not a part of anything anymore. This is your life.”

Harry nods silently and lets Niall and their bodyguard pull him along through the crowd to the front door, open to show Harry’s ecstatic, grinning family and a huge “WELCOME HOME, ONE DIRECTION!” banner.

Anne bounds down the last step and throws her arms around Harry, hugging him tightly. “Welcome home, sweetheart!”

“Where is she?” Harry breathes in Anne’s ear, even as she coos, “Oh, my darling, I’ve missed you!”

Anne tenderly cups Harry’s jaw in her hand. “She’s upstairs with Gemma and Ashley, sweetheart. The crowds would be too loud for her so they’re playing in your bedroom.”

“I want to see her now; please, can I?”

“There are reporters waiting in the kitchen,” Anne hedges, but seeing the crestfallen expression on Harry’s face, she says, “But the boys and I can distract them for a bit. Robin has some champagne he can pour. Go on, but don’t take too long.”

Harry’s green eyes shine. “I can’t promise anything.”

Harry pulls back, but hesitates as his heart climbs into his mouth. He presses his fingers against his lips, holding down words, and he blinks twice, embarrassed when his eyelashes come away wet.

Louis’ hands land on Harry’s shoulders from behind. He leans in close and murmurs right into Harry’s ear, softly enough that none of the cameras or reporters or fans could ever see. “Go on, Hazza. It’s going to be brilliant.” 

Then Louis straightens up and makes a big show of shoving Harry aside to get to Anne, crumpling into her arms and dappling her face with kisses, giving the crowd a distraction so Harry can slip away.

The hustle and bustle thins as he makes his way towards the back of the house, away from the packed hall and kitchen and through the living room. There are photos of himself as a baby framed on the walls and the mantle, and Harry slows to look at them: there’s old Max, nearly as tall as Gemma on Harry’s first day of Hermitage; there’s Alice Fagan and the little teddies they won at the Christmas Faire; there’s big bug-eyed Harry chewing off the ear of another teddy bear, all skinny baby arms and flexed toes, and there – beside it –

Hidden in plain sight from the X Factor cameras, there’s a portrait of tiny Millie in a pale yellow romper suit, head lifted and eyes staring into the camera with so much _genuineness_ that it makes Harry’s heart clench and his eyes water again. He wipes his nose surreptitiously on the back of his wrist. 

The din of the celebration party flares up from back in the kitchen just as Harry’s foot hits the stairs, and he grins down at the floor at the cheer – Robin’s just popped the champagne, clearly –but his ears are trained elsewhere. Once he’s all the way up the stairs, he can hear Gemma and Ashley cooing and giggling from his room, but Millie is silent, too young to babble-talk yet and thankfully not bothered by the ruckus downstairs. Harry leaves his hand on the doorknob for a long minute before he can get his bearings to open it. This room has been his own since he was twelve, and he’s never felt out of place coming home to it before now.

But then, through the wood, he hears Gemma laugh, “Oh, silly billy Millie, you’ve got dribble all over your face, you little goofball! Come on, clean up, your daddy will be here soon and you don’t want to slime him.”

Harry bites his lip, takes a deep, calming breath through his nose, and opens the door.

It’s not his room anymore. The bookshelves are still there, full of How-To guides on parlor tricks (juggling, it turns out, after spending £24, cannot be learned from a book; origami was marginally more successful) and _Blankets_ and _On the Road_ , given to him by Mr. Bedford on his last day of Y11. The posters are gone – no more Frankie Sandford smoldering down at him from the ceiling – and instead, the walls are painted pale yellow. All of the little knickknack metal stock cars and chemistry set are gone from his desk, which is overrun instead by boxes of spare diapers.

Beside his bed, there’s a little brown bassinet.

And on the orange rug at the foot of the bed sit Gemma and Ashley, fussing over a tiny baby on the floor.

Harry covers his mouth. _She’s here_. She’s _real_.

Millie’s eyes crinkle at the corners as she works her legs and waves her arms: a tiny picture of happiness, Gemma shakes her head and bends down with the blue blanket to wipe drool away from Millie’s chin and wrinkled neck, tutting fondly. Ashley tickles Millie’s round belly and Millie lets out a little _myah!_ squeal.

Harry sucks in a fast breath through his teeth.

Gemma looks up with a brilliant, warm smile. “Hi, Hazzhead. Welcome home!” She smiles down at Millie and scoops her up into her arms, murmuring, “Look, Millie. It’s your daddy; he’s finally here for you, I know you’ve been asking.”

Ashley drops a light kiss on the back of Millie’s head and then stands, grinning at Harry. She embraces him with a _welcome home; well done… I’ll leave you to your family_ before slipping out into the hall and shutting the door behind her.

Harry hovers, unsure.

Gemma stands up with Millie cuddled in her arms. She’s got her hair in a knot up on top of her head, and when Millie grasps onto one loose lock and yanks at it curiously, Harry understands why. Instinctively, she shakes out his own curls and pushes them away from his face.

“Your daddy is silly, Millie,” Gemma coos. “Look at how silly.”

Millie turns her head and fixes her huge eyes on Harry, scrutinizing him with bright interest. Gemma gently pries her hair out of Millie’s chubby fist and Millie twists her neck to look back up at Gemma disapprovingly.

Gemma kisses Millie’s forehead. “Do you want to go give your daddy a hug? Yeah?”

Millie drools a bit and pedals her feet. Harry sits down hard on the side of his bed before wiping his clammy palms against the sides of his thighs. Gemma sits down beside him and leans across the bundle of Millie to kiss Harry’s cheek.

“Be a good girl,” Gemma sings, then holds Millie out.

Harry swallows and lets Gemma slide Millie into the cradle of his hands, holding her up in front of him like Simba being presented to Africa and twice as sacred. Millie looks down at her own wiggling feet and flaps her arms, trying to catch them. Tears well up in Harry’s eyes even as he huffs a laugh.

Millie lifts her head. 

Their eyes meet, green against green into green. Harry feels like his chest is caved in, heavy and knocked out, and his own gaze can’t stop flicking over Millie’s face, trying to take in every detail. Her eyes are huge like his when he was a baby, but the green is paler and softer, with gold flecks and blue slices. Her eyelashes dust her cheeks when she blinks, and her mouth is Harry’s in miniature, all wide-lipped and cupid-bowed. She has a faint birthmark at the crest of her forehead, just at the start of her wispy brown curls; it’s so pale that he’d never seen it in any of their photographs or Skype afternoons, but Harry thinks it’s shaped like his own little potato on his wrist.

“Hello, Millie,” Harry whispers. His voice is rough and scratchy and raw. 

Millie’s lips purse and she surveys him passively.

Harry swallows. “Thank you for not crying.”

Millie keeps blinking at him as she works her chubby legs like she’s riding a bicycle. Harry pipes a soft laugh, feeling the wriggling warm weight of her in his hands, the tiny _realness_ of her muscles and bones as she moves. He can feel her breathing. She has a hummingbird heartbeat under his thumbs.

“You can hold her proper, if you want,” Gemma urges softly. “She loves you.”

Harry watches Millie’s face carefully as Millie scrutinizes him right back, curious trust shining in her eyes. Slowly, he brings Millie to his chest and cuddles her close, the tiny fluttering of her exploring fingers crawling up his neck as she considers him thoughtfully. She’s so slight that there’s almost nothing to her, Harry thinks – but there is _everything_ to her; she’s she smallest, most important, most perfect thing he’s ever seen.

Millie pokes his lip and lets out a little twisting yell.

Harry grins and his eyelashes feel wet. “Hi, baby.”

Millie’s eyebrows shoot up and she looks shocked that this strange person could speak. Her arms flap wildly as she pants and looks around to Gemma, eyes wide. Four dry whimpers escape her mouth, but Harry rubs her back gently and starts to hum. _Isn’t she lovely?_

Millie tilts her head. Arms and legs stilling, she slowly calms, staring up at Harry with shining eyes. More drool bubbles out from between her lips, and Harry uses the wrist of his sweatshirt to gently, carefully wipe it away. He kisses the crown of her head and she buries her face against his shoulder, then tucks her little, warm hand into the neck of his shirt. Her tiny palm presses up against the pulse in his neck and the gentle buzz of his throat as he hums, and Millie closes her eyes. 

They stay like that, curled up on Harry’s bed, until the sky outside glows gray and orange with sunset and the house is quiet, all of the reporters and guests sent away.

Anne knocks on Harry’s doorframe. “Sweetheart? We’re going to have tea now, if you want. There’s only us and the Sherlocks and the band. We told all the reporters and TV crew that you were a bit ill.”

Harry runs his thumb over the back of Millie’s head, feeling her soft curls and the small, solid warmth of her. “Mum… she’s so perfect. Why didn’t you tell me it was like this?”

Anne smiles and comes into the room to sit beside Harry. She kisses his forehead, then Millie’s, and smooths back Harry’s hair just as he did to his own child. “I’d have tried, but there’s no way to explain.”

Millie lifts her head at the sound of Anne’s voice and pants a little, bouncing her legs. Anne’s eyes soften and she caresses the fluffy curls at the back of Millie’s head. “Yes, little sweetie, you’re a very perfect little baby.”

Millie squeaks in delight and a long, sticky string of dribble falls from her mouth down onto Harry’s chest.

Anne wipes it away with a tissue from Harry’s bedside. “A very messy little perfect baby,” she amends.

Millie bubbles her agreement.

•••

Dinner is one of the happier, more joyful affairs of Harry’s life. Everyone wants to meet Millie, and to her credit, she revels in the attention. Louis is the only One Directioner brave enough to try holding her, since he’s had scads of practice with his sisters, and Millie takes to him so quickly that Harry gets jealous watching Louis bounce her up and down on his knee and sing a song about trains. But Millie gives a happy yell and peers around until she finds Harry’s face again, and Louis grins up at Harry with a “she looks _just_ like you, mate,” and Harry thinks – it’s right, that Millie should love Louis, too. After all, he did say he wanted to live together after the show and help out with her. It’s better this way.

Louis passes Millie back to Harry and Millie’s eyes shine. Harry kisses the top of her head.

“Alright, alright,” Anne says, “Time to put the monster in her pen and eat dinner. You all have a very long, exciting day tomorrow.”

Gemma helps Harry to buckle Millie into the little bumble baby seat right on the tabletop, between Harry’s seat and Anne’s. 

“She doesn’t need a highchair?” Niall asks curiously, pointing his fork at Millie.

“She can’t eat solids yet,” Anne explains. “When she has her own food, she will. But for now she just likes the company.” Millie bounces a little and cranes her neck to look up at Anne. Anne thumbs Millie’s round cheek. “Don’t you, pretty miss?”

“She’s really, like, bold,” Zayn comments. “Safaa and Waliyha always cried when strangers were about.”

Robin chuckles and pours out glasses of wine and tumblers of water. “Millie’s quite pampered. This might be her first real experience meeting anyone new.”

“We’re not strangers anyway,” Louis declares. “At least not you and me, Zayn. These two are always a mite strange.”

“Hey!” Niall protests. “I’m not the one looking at her like she’s a ghost.”

Liam blushes. “Sorry. It’s only just – well, it’s strange. I mean, I knew, obviously, of course I knew about her, but… it’s different, seeing a real baby. I mean, not that I thought she wasn’t _real_ , just – ”

“I get it,” Harry interrupts him. He smiles encouragingly at Liam. “It is really surreal to see her really here.” Harry reaches out to run his finger along the bottom of Millie’s foot. She jerks her leg in surprise and rubs her foot along the side of Harry’s arm to chase away the tickling shock. Harry smiles until his cheeks dimple.

“Can someone help me shuffle all the food out of the kitchen?” Anne asks.

Gemma stands, but Niall jumps up and beats her to the punch. “I’ve got it,” he assures.

Louis rolls his eyes and stands, too. “I think I’d better supervise. I don’t trust Niall not to eat it all.”

“Har har,” Niall says drily. “So funny I forgot to laugh.”

“What a new joke, Niall!” Louis kids, and flicks the shell of Niall’s ear. They bicker lightly as they fade into the kitchen. 

Millie mewls once, pouting that her new friend Louis is gone. Harry tuts and wiggles his fingers on the tray of her bumble seat to distract her, and Millie chases them with her own hands, shrieking when she manages to trap Harry’s hand. She drools on his knuckles to celebrate.

Anne, Niall, and Louis carry in a full Sunday roast dinner and everyone applauds. Robin carves the roast and everyone fills their plates with extra gravy and Yorkshire puddings. Harry keeps one hand on Millie’s knee for the entire duration of the meal, and she watches everyone with great interest, yelling occasionally and kicking her legs near-constantly.

Midway through their Victoria sponge, Niall stops right in the middle of telling a story about waking up on an air mattress floating in the middle of Lake Lucan and points his fork at Millie. “Harry, your daughter has _terrible_ table manners.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “What? Why?”

“ _Because she’s pooing at the table_ ,” Niall hisses. “Terrible manners.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Harry asks, blushing and flustered. He turns to look at Millie and she looks back, eyebrows drawn down thoughtfully.

“I know that face,” Niall says. “That’s a poo face. Trust me.”

“Liam,” Louis says loudly, “Your Niall has _terrible_ table manners. He’s talking about poo at the table.”

Liam’s eyes go round as pence. His gaze shoots around between all of the adults at the table before he carefully says, “Harry… your Louis has terrible table manners. He’s tattling _and_ talking doing a poo. At the table.”

Millie interrupts the Gilbert & Sullivan act with a well-placed whimper.

“Told you,” Niall says smugly, and daubs some whipped cream into his mouth.

Anne pats Harry’s hand on the tabletop. “Time to buck up, Dad.”

Harry pulls a face, but steels himself and stands up, scraping back his chair. He gingerly plucks whimpering Millie out of the bumble seat. “Come on, little bean. Let’s figure this out.”

Millie whimpers desperately and squirms in his arms. 

As he carries the distraught baby up the stairs, Harry just barely hears Zayn say, “Taking bets on how long this will be. I’m calling twenty minutes, got any takers? Trifecta odds?”

(In the end, Vicky Sherlock wins outright at 38 minutes, but Liam takes the trifecta odds at ‘over a half hour, two changes of shirt, and baby powder in the hair’.) After Harry and Millie rejoin the group, to more applause – though this time it’s half-mocking – and Harry’s finished his cake, Gemma prepares a bottle for Millie and feeds it to the sleepy girl while the boys perform an impromptu selection of songs. They practice for Friday’s final with “Your Song” and “Torn,” and they show off with “Forever Young” even though no one’s supposed to know it might be their Winner’s Single. Millie watches until her sleepy eyes start rolling between long blinks, and Harry shushes them all so she can sleep. 

“You’ll win for sure,” Gemma assures them. She carefully shifts the sleeping bundle of Millie into Harry’s arms and he cradles her close, smoothing down her featherdown hair. “Ugh, I’m just so proud.”

“Thanks, sis,” Harry whispers back, grinning. “I’m gonna take Millie up and put her to bed. I think I’ll stay there.” He smiles at the Sherlocks. “Thanks for coming out. It really means a lot.”

They both hug him awkwardly around the baby in his arms and heap on too much praise and well wishes for the final. They hug all of the other boys, too, and Niall blushes red to the roots of his hair when Ashley kisses him on the cheek.

After they’re gone, Robin claps his hands once. “Alright, boys, shuttle to the Bungalow is leaving in five. Get your bags if you need them.”

Zayn, Liam, Niall, and Louis each ruffle Harry’s hair in turn as they barrel out of the room. Harry kisses Anne on the cheek and takes Millie upstairs.

“Harry,” Anne calls, just as his foot’s hit the second stair, “On her back.”

“I know,” Harry calls back as quietly as he can, “I read the books. I’ll do a good job, Mum.”

Harry had gotten used to rustling and noise in the night, sharing a room with the other boys, but tonight he lies awake, turned on his side to face the bassinet, and notices everything about Millie: the tiny smacking sound as she fishmouths in her sleep – is she dreaming about eating? She’d get on well with Niall – and the slight, steady sound of her breath. At half-midnight, the bassinet gives a little creak as she wriggles sharply, and Harry sits up quickly when she sobs a sad little mewl.

Harry leans over the bassinet and rests his hand so, so lightly over Millie’s round baby tummy. Her eyes open up blearily and she wriggles again, kicking out her legs and punching her arms into the air. 

“Did you wake yourself up, baby Millie?” Harry whispers. “Did you dream you were falling, and it felt like you hit the ground and woke you up? That happens to me all the time. Maybe you inherited it.” Millie rocks herself a little and mewls again fussily, and Harry gently strokes the side of her tummy with his thumb. She’s _so_ little. “Do you know who I am?”

Millie cries softly, more sad, pathetic sounds than tears, and Harry quietly dares to pick her up and hold her close, rubbing her back gently. He finds the t-shirt he’d been wearing earlier and uses it to wipe her mouth clean of all that drool, and he takes a moment to press his lips to the top of her head and breathe her in; he’d heard that babies’ heads smell good, but he doesn’t think she smells particularly different to himself. Maybe a bit sweet. He breathes in a second time and thinks, _oh, yes, she does smell good; she smells like my baby_.

 _His baby_. Even though he’d been preparing for this for months and had known her, he thought anyway, had spoken to her and seen her every day since she was born, having her here, in his arms, snuffling into his chest – Harry feels a bit dizzy and his stomach and heart switch places in his chest and he’s a little shaky and weak and _stupid_ in love with this little thing. But _god_. How terrifying. _His baby_.

It’s kind of hard to believe.

But she’s _here_. He’s holding her. She’s breathing hot into the dip of his shoulder and her little legs have strong muscles kicking up and down like she’s trying to run and her head smells like his shirts. His baby. His. His Millie.

He keeps a steady hand covering the back of her round, downy head as he scoots back onto his creaky childhood bed and lies back against the pillows so that Millie is rested over his heart. She fists her hands over his skin and Harry can feel her itty-bitty heart beating up against his and her itty-bitty lungs filling and emptying as she breathes; he swallows hard to stop from crying and wonders if she can hear it. 

“I’m your dad,” Harry whispers, carrying on from moments ago as though nothing had changed – as though gravity were the same and everything in the world still laid out in the same order. “And I know I haven’t been here with you. And I’m leaving again in the morning. And I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, because that’s shit, but um… if this all works out, then I think I can give you a better life. And then I’m never going to leave you again. 

“I don’t really know how to be a dad, Millie. Basically mine was, you know… he was shit, too, and um, and he left. It was good that he left, though, but… I’m never going to be that. Any of it. I really promise, sweetheart. Just – I’m never gonna hurt you, you know? And um, I’m always going to be here. You and me, Millie, we’re a team, okay? Just the two of us. Whatever happens with the boys, okay, you and me – we’re what’s forever. And that’s really scary, okay, so you’ve just gotta deal with me.

“I really don’t know what I’m doing, though. You scare the pants off me. I’m gonna make lots of mistakes, but I am trying.” Harry swallows again and rubs Millie’s back in small circles. She gurgles and Harry can feel it all through her chest and belly, humming up against him, and he loops his thumb over her fat little arm right where bones will grow and make a wrist. 

“I love you,” Harry murmurs, and his voice breaks but he doesn’t stop this time. “I fucking – sorry, I’m sorry. I just love you so much it scares me, and it doesn’t even make sense because like, before tonight, you weren’t – I mean, of course, you were a person, but like… you can’t talk or anything, so it wasn’t really like – talking to you, I didn’t know you? But you’re real. And you really are a little person with like feelings and stuff, and I just… I really want you to love me. ‘Cause I love you.” Harry takes a deep breath and holds it for a second, letting the oxygen rattle around in his brain, before he exhales. 

He can tell that Millie is sound asleep. Harry presses his lips together and figures that if nothing else, that probably means she trusts him. Right now, he supposes that’s enough.

•••  
  
•••

Harry holds Millie until he’s literally forced away by Zayn and Louis because the camera crews are headed back up the drive to follow them to Bradford. Millie whimpers and smudges her face over Harry’s shoulder, little hand tucked into the neck of his shirt again, and Harry kisses her head over and over.

“I love you, little bean,” he whispers fiercely, “I love you so much and I’m only leaving so I can take care of you better. I love you. I love you _so much_.”

“Hazz,” Louis says gently, touching his arm, “We’ve really got to go.”

Harry nods, but just kisses Millie’s forehead again. “I love you. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

“Come on, Harry,” Anne murmurs, “Give her here.” She maneuvers Millie out of Harry’s arms and tuts soothingly when Millie whimpers again, craning back to look at Harry. “It’s okay, Millie, it’s okay, baby. Your daddy will be back. He’ll be back soon.” She tucks the blue blanket against her shoulder and Millie pushes her face into it. “There you go, sweetie, there’s your favorite smell. You’re okay.”

Harry bites his lips and looks at the floor, willing himself not to cry. Anne leans in and kisses his head. “Go on, sweetheart. England is waiting.”

Harry lets Louis and Zayn wrap their arms around his waist and lead him out of the house. Harry tries to smile for the cameras once they get out the door, but Ian and Stud, their camera guys, lean out from behind their shells and say, “Styles, you sick still?” so he has the excuse to stop.

They all pile into the van, where Pravin is filming an excitable Niall and charming Liam about the day ahead: a signing at HMV in Bradford and a tour of Louis’ old school, followed by dinner with Simon Cowell and a performance at Regent Square Park in Doncaster. It will be their first outdoor concert; their first anywhere outside of The X Factor. They’re all nervous and excited; Harry just can’t remember that right now.

They settle into the van and the camera crew turns to Zayn for an introduction to their ride into Bradford. 

Louis keeps his arm around Harry’s shoulders. “Are you alright, H?”

There’s a long minute before Harry answers. He turns his face into the curve of Louis’ neck. “No.”

Louis weaves his fingers through Harry’s curls, scratching at the scalp. “That’s okay.”

“It’s not, though,” Harry murmurs, “Because we’ve got to win.”

“We will,” Louis says confidently. “And in the meantime… just think about how much she loves your singing, and maybe that will help.”

Harry nods, looking up at Louis with determination. “I’m gonna win for her. I’m just telling you now, ‘cause it affects you. We’re going to win.”

“Good.” Louis smiles back. “I really _don’t_ have any Uni plans, so we’d better.” He raises his voice so the other three can hear over their FIFA World Cup. “Hey, boys – Harry’s decided that we are _going_ to win, just so you know.”

“Yeah, buddy!” cheers Niall. The distraction causes Zayn to score on Niall’s goal and Niall groans despondently. “Unfair! Ref?”

“Ref says it’s okay,” Liam says, and scores a follow-up on Niall’s goal right back.

The signing in Bradford is insane, even more than Wolvo the day before; their ears are all ringing by the time they’re swooped back into the van by security and they have to yell to hear each other – the absurdity and adrenaline makes them collapse into a heap of giggling boy on the floor of the van. They get curry and kati rolls to eat in on the way to Doncaster and the camera crews fret after they all turn up with stains and smudges all down their shirts. 

Hannah is waiting for them at the front entrance of Louis’ last school, Hall Cross. She runs into his arms and he gives her a tight hug while cameras flash and the teenage audience seems evenly split between “aww”s and “ahhh”s. Louis leans in to kiss her, but Hannah rears back and wipes at a bright orange curry smudge at the crest of Louis’ lip.

They both laugh, and Harry smiles, too, lets Hannah hug him a moment later, but he doesn’t want – Hannah is on the outside of what matters right now, he thinks. He likes her, and he knows that she’s important to Louis, maybe even vital to make it through the competition, but she doesn’t know about Millie. And she isn’t in the band.

“Harry, hon, you look so tired,” Hannah says, then licks her thumb and smudges some curry from his chin. She smiles at him encouragingly. “But you’re going to do great.” Her black-rimmed eyes take on warm significance. “Louis’ told me all about you. And you’re going to do so good.”

Harry swallows. He tests her. “I’m nervous I’m not ready.”

“I don’t think anyone really feels ready for something like this,” Hannah murmurs. She kisses his cheek. “But I’ve got faith in anyone Louis trusts so much.” She pulls back and tightens her hands on his shoulders as she raises an eyebrow and asks, “I hope you feel the same?”

Harry’s lips twitch. His eyes flick over Hannah’s face and then back to Louis, where the older boy is buried in the hugging limbs of his four little sisters and his mum all clinging to him. “Yeah,” Harry says finally. “I think I can.”

Hannah smiled and patted his cheek. “I’m really glad, Harry. Really, I am.”

“Me, too, I think,” Harry says, nodding. Then he lets her go and lets Louis pull him over to his family so the twins can hang all over Harry’s arms and Jay can fuss over his curls. In the background, he hears Hannah cry, “Niall! Get over here, you wally!”

“You told Hannah about Millie?” Harry whispers in Louis’ ear.

Louis has the restraint to look abashed. “I did, yeah. She – well, she asked something and it was the easiest answer to just tell her?”

Harry’s brow furrows. “What’d she ask?”

Louis’ face colors. “I don’t – ”

“You told her about Millie,” Harry points out. “I deserve to know why.”

Louis licks his lip and looks at his shoes. “She asked me if ‘Larry Stylinson’ is real, and when I said no, she asked… why. And she just, it got in my head. I’m sorry.”

Louis looks so uncomfortable that Harry just nods. “It’s okay. Just – don’t spread it around?”

“No,” Louis says quickly, “I wouldn’t. Harry, I promise, she’s the only – just her and my mum, and you knew Mum knows, and – no, I wouldn’t, I won’t.”

“I know,” Harry apologizes. “Sorry.” He pauses and touches Louis’ arm. “Do you need me to back off a bit?”

“No,” Louis says again. “Don’t be stupid. I need you to get through this madness.” He grins, just barely tinged of trepidation. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

Harry grins back. “Good. I’ve got used to lolling all over you. And a flat in London sounds a lot less fun without you.”

Louis’ grin gets even wider and his ears get tipped with just a little pleased pink. 

Harry pulls Louis’ head down into a headlock. “Come on then, Tommo. Show me where the Swagmasta from Doncasta used to roam.”

The Hall Cross show is _so_ much more fun than any of their ITV gigs. The idea of a real audience there just to see them is intoxicating, and all five boys – and Simon – are bouncing from the walls after with confidence for Saturday’s final. Simon buys them all champagne – really good stuff, too, according to a hiccupping Zayn after – and toasts, “To the next X Factor champions.”

On Saturday, though, it all goes wrong. Not the performances – they’re amazing, and they get to sing with _Robbie Williams_ , and all four judges praise “Your Song.”

But – 

On Sunday, their name isn’t called. Rebecca’s name comes out of Dermot’s mouth, and she looks _shocked_ , and Harry knows he should congratulate her, but he can’t feel anything. His fingers are numb, and he only knows that Louis’ patting his hip because he can see it. He can’t feel a thing.

 _Something went wrong Saturday_ , and Harry doesn’t know what, but he blames himself. It was that long note at the end of “Your Song,” it was when his voice cracked, it was too rock and not smooth enough for a ballad, it was – it was his fault, it was –

It doesn’t matter anymore. 

They’re out.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	6. Chapter 6

They step off the stage and Harry hunches into Niall’s arms: he’s sobbing more than the other boys would have expected, and they’re used to Harry’s tears. Zayn puts an arm around Harry’s shoulders and rubs his arm, but that’s when he notices that Harry isn’t just crying, he’s whispering into Niall’s shoulder.

“I failed her; I failed her; I fucking failed her.”

“Harry,” Zayn whispers, his mouth nuzzled up close to Harry’s ear so the cameras won’t be able to caption him, “You did not fail her. She’s gonna be so proud of you.”

“I failed her,” Harry just sobs again. He tightens his hands in Niall’s shirt and Niall hugs him that bit closer, petting his curly hair. “And I missed everything, everything, I missed two months of her life, I missed her being _born_ for _nothing_.”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Zayn says gruffly. “Harry, just – like, try to think about the good. Like if anyone of us is gonna get a real shot, it’s you and Liam, okay? You didn’t fail anyone. Not us. Not Millie. It wasn’t nothing.”

“I gave it all up and we didn’t even win.” Harry’s voice is eerily flat and atonal, like now that they aren’t singing, there is no pitch in him. “I have no money, no education, nothing to make her life better, and I missed so much. She doesn’t even know me.”

“She does,” Zayn argues. “You talk to her every day. You saw her last week. She loves you, Harry, whether or not we won.”

Harry shakes his head and Niall chucks his chin against the crest of Harry’s head gently. 

“It’s okay, Harry,” Niall says. “We’re gonna stay together and someone will want us. Third place always gets signed by someone.”

Harry just keeps crying, even after they’ve been ushered out of the staging area and back to the green room.

“Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” Anne gushes, rushing forward to gather Harry into her arms. “You did so wonderfully, and we’re all _so_ proud of you all.”

“I missed everything, Mum, I missed – I missed her – ”

“You didn’t miss anything that she’ll remember, darling,” Anne assures him, combing through his hair with her fingers. “You’ll see… you’ll be there for all the things that matter.”

“ _I thought this mattered_.” Harry shakes his head. “But it doesn’t in the end, does it?”

Anne cuffs the back of his head. “Oh, stop being ridiculous. Harry, honestly. You did _amazingly_ well and all of the papers say that you’re getting signed anyway, so you probably will. If not by Simon, _someone_ will take you. Geffen, Island, Epic. RCA.”

“You’re just listing labels,” Harry says dryly, but he sniffs a wet laugh. “I’m wallowing. Just let me cry.”

“Oh, no,” Anne says, “I deal with quite enough curly-haired weepers on a daily basis and I’m not dealing with one right now. Now go commiserate with your friends and then get roaring drunk and don’t tell me anything about what happens. But be safe.”

Harry’s lips purse. “Yes, Mum.”

He heads to Louis first, where he’s buried under both twins on his lap and his mum, Lottie, Fizzy, and Hannah all crowding around his shoulders. When one of the twins sees Harry approaching, though, she bounces off Louis’ lap and runs to Harry, flinging her spindly arms around his waist. 

“I’m sorry you don’t get a million pounds, Harry!” 

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up and he laughs again, even though it comes out wet and ducklike from all the crying. “That’s okay. Erm, which one are you?”

“Phoebe!” she says, looking up at him with a toothy leer that passes for a half-grown-in smile. “Are you really gonna live in a flat with Louis?”

“I hope so,” Harry says, ruffling her hair. He looks up and his eyes meet Louis’ with a smile. 

“He’s messy,” Phoebe confides. “And he can’t cook at all. Once he burnt my linguini!”

Harry chuckles, then bends down and heaves Phoebe up onto his hip. “And how did he do that?”

“I don’t know,” she says earnestly. “Dad says it’s against science!”

Harry barks a loud laugh. “That’s alright. I can cook.”

“You can?” Phoebe asks. Harry nods. “Will you cook for me?”

“Sure,” Harry says. “I can make you chocolate-chip cookies.”

Phoebe makes a face. “I don’t like chocolate. That’s Daisy.”

Harry’s jaw drops as he carries Phoebe back over to the sofa where Anne is chatting with Jay. “You don’t like chocolate? Are you an alien? What do you like?”

“Bubblegum,” Phoebe informs him, “And peas.”

“Peace?”

“ _Peas_ ,” she emphasizes, “I like peas with cinnamon.”

“That’s disgusting,” Harry tells her, sitting down heavily on the sofa between Louis and Jay.

Jay gives Harry a sympathetic smile. “Oh, you’ll see, Harry dear, that daughters quite like to come up with their own… unique favorite foods.” She leans across Phoebe to kiss Harry’s cheek. “Congratulations on making it through the final. You’re all amazing.”

Harry’s mood falls again. He shrugs. “We didn’t win.”

“It’s not about the winning and the losing,” Daisy recites, “But about the friends we make playing.”

Louis kisses the back of Daisy’s head and slides his hand over Harry’s shoulder to squeeze comfortingly. “Yeah, H. You’ve gained _me_. That’s better than a million pounds any day.”

“It’s not about the million pounds.” Harry sniffles again and desperately pokes at the corner of his eye, trying to push the tears back because he’s _not_ a weeper, _he’s not_. “It’s just like – it would’ve proved that I could do this. That I could do something just exactly right.”

Louis sobers and nods. “Yeah. I mean, I get that. I’m not such a screwball I don’t understand what it’s really about. I’m upset, too, but – I guess I’m more optimistic about it. I still think Simon’s fixed the whole thing for you and Liam.”

Harry shoots him a sardonic glance. “Then why’re Matt and Rebecca up there now and we’re here?”

“Because,” Louis blusters, “He’s got to be subtle. There would be OFCOM complaints otherwise.”

Harry shakes his head. Both twins pinch Louis’ forearms hard between their sharp little fingernails, and he yelps. Jay cuffs the back of Louis’ head, and Louis pouts theatrically as he buries his face into Harry’s shoulder. 

Niall comes up and pats the back of Louis’ head. “It’s okay, Lou. Don’t be so glum. It’ll work out.”

Harry laughs and Louis looks up with disgruntled eyes. “I’m not glum; I just keep getting pinched and hit.”

“Is that a baseball reference?” Niall asks. “I don’t know it.”

Louis harrumphs. He lifts Daisy off his lap and clucks at Phoebe, who scrambles off Harry’s legs and wraps herself around her twin instead; he holds his hand out to Harry. “It’s not a baseball reference. C’m’along, boys. Let’s get very, very drunk.” He glances down at the twins and taps the ends of their noses, _boop_. “I mean, let’s go have Ribenas and Ovaltine.”

“Louis, we’ve seen you drunk,” Phoebe says, rolling her eyes.

Daisy nods vehemently. “Or did you think we thought you and Stan tried to go swimming in the kitchen just for fun?”

Louis heaves a sigh and slings an arm around Harry and Niall. “That’s the thing about little girls, young Harold. They notice everything.”

•••

Simon signs them after all, of course. And that’s good, it’s _excellent_ , it’s better than Harry could have imagined – but it does slow down their process of going back home. There are producers to meet and songwriters to discuss with and imagemakers to consult and, the only thing that takes stress off Harry’s shoulders instead of adding some, posh London apartments to buy, up north in Muswell Hill. They find out that Harry will need an over-eighteen to be his guarantor since he won’t be eighteen within six months, and Louis immediately volunteers, so that takes care of the messy business of telling Simon that the pair want to live together in a way that doesn’t raise any hackles.

In the end, it’s nearly ten days before Harry makes it back up to Holmes Chapel in a long train ride he’s too nervous to sleep through.

“There’s our big popstar!” Gemma cheers, helping Millie wave her arms in a rowdy cheer as Harry drops his bags in the front hall. “Look, Millie! Your daddy’s finally home for you!”

“Hi, hi, hi,” Harry pants, dragging a trunk off the front step and into the hall, “Sorry I got – held up. Simon wanted us to stay in London for a bit to look at a complex for the band to move in.” He kicks the door shut and steps over the obstacle course of bags and boxes, then wraps his arms around Gemma and Millie. “I’m home now, though. Happy Christmas.”

“It’s not Christmas for another two days, Hazzhead,” Gemma laughs, “Don’t get too excited, I’ve not got your presents yet.”

“I don’t need presents,” Harry says. “I’m just glad to be home.”

He looks over at Millie with a warm smile, and nudges her round cheek gently with his thumb. “Hi, little bean. How are you?”

Millie’s gaze is impassive as she studies his face, and for a sinking moment, Harry’s stomach lurches unpleasantly with the absolute knowledge that she’s completely forgotten him. 

“Oh, Millie, sweetie, I’m sorry I left.”

Millie strikes out and reaches into Harry’s hair, yanking mightily. “Oooh!”

Laughing, Gemma helps Harry disentangle his curls from Millie’s greedy hands, but every time Harry starts to come free, Millie plunges her other hand into his hair and pulls again, kicking her legs in joy. 

“Found a fine new game, haven’t you?” Harry grunts, finally pulling his hair away and catching Millie’s tiny fists in his own hands before she can grab at him again. He kisses her little fingers. “But that hurts. It’s not nice.”

Millie frowns and flaps her arms. She reaches out for Harry again but he catches her hands – “One minute, little baby, hold on. I’ve got a solution.” – and fishes a knit beanie out of one of the duffel bags. He tucks all of his hair up inside of it. “There we are. Good to go.”

Millie stares curiously at the cap and blows a massive spit bubble. Gemma slides Millie into Harry’s arms and Harry grins, brushing a kiss over the top of Millie’s downy head.

“Well, we’re glad you’re home, Harry.” Gemma kisses his cheek, then Millie’s, and Millie preens. “With quick problem-solving skills like that, maybe you’ll be better at this than I thought.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “Thanks, I think.”

“I’m just saying now,” Gemma defers, ducking out of the room, “She’s a little handful.”

Vocalizing in little burbling screeches, Millie wriggles and writhes in Harry’s arms. He hitches her up a little tighter into his arms and bounces her lightly so that she cranes her neck up to peer at him.

“You’re not a handful, are you?”

Millie grasps onto his nose, apparently disgruntled when it’s more difficult to yank out than his hair.

Millie _is_ a handful, Harry learns quite quickly. She’s neither walking nor crawling yet, or even cruising, but anything in her reach goes right into her mouth – and even though she can’t get places herself yet, she wants to explore and whimpers until she’s walked around the house and shown different things and places and people. The only time all day that she sits in satisfaction for more than half an hour is when Harry brings her into the kitchen and they sit on the floor near the window to watch the light dusting of Christmas snow fall outside. 

Millie whistles through the soft palate at the back of her nose and taps the glass with her flat, chubby hand, craning her neck around to look up at Harry.

“Yeah,” Harry encourages her softly, caressing his thumb over her round belly. “It’s snow. Is it pretty?”

Millie bangs on the glass again and a nesting of winter-flocking starlings takes off from the shrubbery at the side of the house, their dark wings a riot of soft drumbeat against the wooly, white sky. Millie shrinks back from the noise, whimpering, and wriggles around to bury her face into Harry’s chest.

“It’s okay, little baby bean,” Harry soothes, rubbing her back in slight circles. “It’s pretty, birds, look – ” he urges her chin so she looks out the window again, where a single white-speckled sleek starling is pecking at the back step, spindly legs hopping in the snow. Millie’s arms stretch out to tap the glass again, but Harry catches her hands and kisses her fingers. “No, don’t scare him away. Just look, watch how pretty.”

Millie snuffles and snuggles back against Harry’s chest, gripping tightly onto his fingers. Harry tips his head forward and hums Christmas carols softly in Millie’s ear until she goes slack, sound asleep in his arms.

“You’ll want to put her down and take the chance for a little catnap yourself,” Anne whispers to Harry as she ruffles his hair. 

“I’m not tired,” Harry assures her. He rocks Millie where she’s curled up against him, and carefully counting out all ten of her fingers and ten of her toes. 

Anne smirks. “You say that now, on day one. By the end of the week, you’ll be crying for a snooze.”

Harry shrugs. “I’m young. I’ll manage.”

Anne just keeps smirking, heading over to the pantry to start preparing for tea. “That’s what they all say.”

That night, Harry learns that Millie gets colic after her last bottle more often than not, and while she’s not an out-and-out screaming crier, she whimpers pathetically and jerks and lets out sad, lowing sounds until someone’s picked her up and chucked her up and down and she’s thrown up white all over someone’s shoulder. Which she does, to Harry. Twice.

By the next morning, Harry’s only had three full hours of sleep – fortunately, they were consecutive – and another two separate hours of dozing lightly, too aware and concerned to really call them restful. Over a breakfast of Robin’s special gingerbread pancakes, Harry yawns more than speaks or eats, and Millie’s happy, flailing arms accidentally whack him hard in the eye.

Harry collapses face-first onto the table. “Why didn’t you tell me it was this much work? It’s only been _one night_ and I’m _dying_.”

“You aren’t dying,” Anne chides. “And I did tell you yesterday that you ought to nap.”

Harry lifts his head and glares at her. His forehead is pink where it hit the table. “You said it’d be a _week_ before I felt like crying. It’s only been nineteen hours.”

Anne reaches across the table to pat his cheek. “In that case, by the end of the week, you’ll be feeling better.”

Harry groans and his forehead hits the table with another _bang_. Millie squeaks and drools happily, drumming her feet against the back of Harry’s head.

Later that afternoon, after Harry and Millie have both taken a two-hour nap and Harry’s feeling a little fresher, Gemma gifts Millie with an advance Christmas present.

“Look, Milly Billy,” she coos, opening the box, “It’s your very first pretty dress, just for Christmas. And little tights, and shoes, and a little hat. See how pretty?”

A dark spot appears on the white collar of the dress as Millie drools her appreciation. 

“What does she need a dress for?” Harry asks, and wipes up Millie’s wet mouth. “She’s not going to Christmas mass or anything.”

“No,” Gemma says, “But she’ll look darling in it and she’s big enough to start wearing things besides onesies.”

“But why a dress? Why not like, tiny jeans and a little hoodie?”

Gemma sighs. “Because this is what I wanted to get her for Christmas. When you’re buying her clothing, you can dress her in whatever you’d like.”

Harry is abashed. “Sorry, Gems. It’s a lovely gift and she will look darling in it.”

Of course, she does. But of course, it takes even longer to get Millie into than her onepieces do – particularly the tights, which Millie finds oddly hilarious.

“Come on,” Harry begs, trying to catch Millie’s frantically kicking leg, “Give me your foot!”

His fingers brush over the bottom of her foot as he almost succeeds, but Millie shrieks and her leg rockets up so she can suck on her toes, waving her arms. She grabs the limp stocking leg Harry’s still brandishing and yanks, delighted at its elasticity as she pulls and pulls, deforming the little footside lace pattern that runs through the thick knit tights. 

“Mill _ie_ ,” Harry groans, “You’re wrecking Gemma’s present; now gimme your foot, _please_?”

Anne sticks her head through the door. “Her feet are very ticklish, H. Like you. You’re going to have to mind that when you’re dressing her.”

Harry looks up, eyes round. “Thanks.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Anne says. She smiles at Millie where the baby is peering at her happily, waving her arms and sucking on her own toes. “And happy Christmas, little sweetie.” She glances back up at Harry. “I’ll be downstairs checking the chicken roast for tea, but we can settle in and exchange gifts and watch _Doctor Who_ whenever you’re both ready. Robin’s got it queued on Sky.”

She disappears, and Harry leans over Millie on the changing table. “Okay, little bean.” He blows a raspberry on her belly and she shrieks, heels banging against the tabletop. “Let’s try this again.”

He hands Millie a teddy bear to distract herself with while he maneuvers the tights up over her feet and legs, careful not to touch the ticklish bottoms of her feet. Millie watches his face with great interest as she gnaws viciously on the bear’s ear.

Harry adjusts the ruffled waist of the stockings over the top of her crinkly diaper. “There. That wasn’t _really_ so hard, was it?” Millie sticks out her tongue. “Alright, it was. I can admit that. But look! Success! Now there’s just the dress, and then we’ll eat chicken and watch _Doctor Who_. You’ll like it. Katherine Jenkins is in this year, and you’ll like her, she’s hot. Not that you really care that she’s hot, but. Basically.”

•••

The rest of Christmas evening is lovely. Millie does look so darling in the dress and ruffled-bottom tights that Harry can’t help but take almost a hundred photos of her where she’s playing on the floor, and he sends a bushel each to Louis, Liam, Niall, and Zayn. Niall sends him back a photo of his gran carving into an enormous roast goose while drinking a pint; Zayn sends a photo of himself smoking from an enormous hookah and the caption, _it ’ s good 2 b homeee aha ! x_

Liam doesn’t answer right away, but Louis sends him back two photos straight off: one, his family as they are today – minus his father, but Harry assumes that Mark is just taking the photo of Louis, Jay, and all of Louis’ sisters – and one of Louis at just a bit older than Millie’s age, wearing an enormously puffy Father Christmas beard and a horrible red jumper emblazoned with vaguely sinister snowmen.

Harry laughs outright, almost bleating, and Millie pats the iPhone’s screen appreciatively at the photograph of baby Louis. Harry, still laughing, shows them off to Anne, who laughs back and smooths her fingers through Harry’s curls to neaten them.

After she’s stopped, and Harry’s typed back, _What an interesting choice of outfit..sorry to see it didn’t make a reappearance today !_ one-handed, Anne tickles Millie’s chin.

“Okay, little sweetie, it’s bathtime, up you get. Time to be nice and clean!”

“Why doesn’t Harry give’r her bath, Mum?” Gemma asks. She ruffles Harry’s hair. “He’s got to learn anyway.”

“That’s true,” Anne says. She smiles at the fear in Harry’s eyes. “How about it?”

“I – what – but I’m – does she need one?” Harry asks, a bit desperately. “She smells clean to me.”

“Just once or twice a week yet, but, yeah, she does,” Anne says. “It’s not that difficult, although she does get a bit squirmy once she’s in the water. She likes her baths.” She chucks Millie’s chin again with one crooked finger and Millie waves her arms. “Don’t you, Miss Mills?”

Harry’s face is pinched and he looks down at the baby like she’s a time bomb. Anne laughs and pats his shoulder. “C’mon, Harry. You wanted full custody; that includes bathtime.”

Harry sighs and takes a deep inhale to steel his resolve. “Yeah, alright, fine. What do I do?”

“She’s got her baby tub all set in your bathroom, or you can get in with her and hold her, but the most important thing is that the water isn’t too hot or too cold and you _can’t take your eyes off her for a second_. Not a _second_ , Harry.”

“Get in with her?” Harry’s face screws up. “That’s weird! Isn’t it? That’s weird.”

“It’s not weird; she’s a baby, stupid,” Gemma says. “She doesn’t care if you don’t care. Put trunks on if you’re squeamish. You are supposed to be bonding with her. You’ve got to establish trust with each other and all that.”

“But what if I drop her?” Harry asks, clutching Millie just a little closer at the thought. She reaches up curiously and latches her hand to his chin.

“Don’t,” is all Anne says. She pats Harry’s cheek. “You can just use the baby tub if you’re not comfortable. Neither is better or worse than the other. Just keep an eye on her and at least a hand on her. She’s funny in the bath. She loves to splash.”

Harry swallows and clenches his back teeth together to steel himself. Then he nods, hitches Millie back up into his arms, and starts up the stairs.

“You look like you’re walking the green mile,” Gemma calls after him, laughing.

Harry doesn’t dignify her with a response. Millie seems to agree that this is the high road, since she mumbles something fairly wet between her pouty lips and pats Harry on the neck. He breathes deeply enough that she rises and falls with it, a little smile blooming on her face.

Harry’s tension melts and he grins back. “Did you like that, Millie? Look at you smiling.”

Her little nose crinkles and Harry bounces her in his arms a little. Her grin grows wider and she rests her hands on his cheeks, tiny fingers tucked into his dimples. Harry laughs delightedly and turns in a circle, still chucking her up and down to see her grin. Millie doesn’t know how to laugh properly yet, but she breathes out on a long _haaaah!_ that makes Harry draw her in and kiss her face all over.

He can do this. He can be a dad, he can be the _best_ dad. Millie loves him enough to have saved her first smile for him.

She bats at his curls where they fall and tickle her neck and Harry pulls back after a last kiss to her chubby, chubby cheeks. 

“Okay, Miss Millie,” he says with new determination, “How d’you want to tackle this bath? Do you want your baby tub, or do you want me to get in there with you?”

Millie’s brows knit together and she looks very thoughtful for a long moment. And then –

“ _Oh, Millie_ ,” Harry grumps. “What a rude way to answer my question. ‘Poo’ was not one of the choices.”

Millie frowns and whimpers once, so Harry just sighs and sets about changing her. He finishes in record time (for him) and rewards himself with a little high-five from Millie’s slack hand as she looks on curiously. She pats his wrist a few times after, like she’s trying to understand, and Harry blows a raspberry on her round belly because he can. Millie shrieks and her little hands tangle in Harry’s curls because they _tickle_ and Harry shrieks because her hands can’t even grasp yet but they can sure _yank_ and that makes Millie shriek more loudly, kicking her chub legs in complete joy as Harry tries to free himself. 

After he succeeds, with a grunt that sends Millie into paroxysms of baby-wriggles, Harry shakes out his hair and picks Millie up.

“Okay, then,” he says. “Bathtime. Your final choice? Tub or me?”

Millie kicks his ribs and pushes her face into his chest, drooling wetly.

“Me, it is.”

He sets Millie up in her little blue bouncer in the corner of the bathroom as he strips down and putters around getting everything he can possibly think he might need – towels and soap and lotion and washcloths and sponges and shampoo and even a little wooden toy boat that he digs out from the back of his junk drawer – and tests the water temperature on the inside of his wrist about fifteen times. Normally, Harry likes his water so hot that it scalds him pink, so it’s hard to tell what’s warm enough when everything feels cold.

He settles for dripping a little water on Millie’s leg and seeing whether she looks perturbed at all, and when she doesn’t, he fills the tub a few inches. Millie picks up her leg and holds it close to her face so she can stare inquisitively at the droplet of water on her knee. She decides that clearly the best course of action is to drink it, and gums on her leg until Harry wrestles it away from her and extricates her from the bouncer. Millie’s eyes sparkle at him trustingly and Harry nuzzles their noses together.

“D’you want to take a bath, little bean?” he asks her. “Be all clean and nice?”

Millie burbles as Harry holds her tightly and steps into the tub, settling down with a wince at the lukewarm water. Millie startles when her legs submerge and she squirms desperately; she kicks and gurgles and flails her arms and Harry panics and doesn’t really know what to do other than to hold her close and shush her, so he does, one wet hand coming up to cup the back of her round head –

And that seems to calm her. She coos and settles down, pushing at the water with both palms and slapping the surface to make little waves. She looks up at Harry with a wide, toothless, gummy grin as if to say, _look what I can do!_

Harry smiles back at her and gently washes her back with sweet-smelling baby soap that reminds him of memories he didn’t know he still had; oatmeal porridge in the morning and a stuffed rabbit to cuddle at night. Shampoo makes Millie fret terribly and whimper into the side of Harry’s neck, but he shields her big eyes from the bubbles and sings “Isn’t She Lovely” as he rinses her head.

Millie’s pout lessens as Harry keeps singing quietly. He’s always liked the way he sounds singing in bathrooms, though he’s not much for shower opera; Liam said it was something about acoustics, but he thinks it’s just that he stops _caring_ so much.

“Isn’t she precious,” he sings, running the washcloth over Millie’s shoulders. “Only just two months old?”

Millie tilts her head thoughtfully and rounds out her lips in an ‘o.’

“Do you remember when I would sing you this song?” Harry asks her enquiringly. “Could you really hear me?”

Millie blows three gusts of breath out through her round lips and Harry takes it as an answer, as a _yes_ , as an _I love you a bit and this will work out_ and _I’m getting a bit cold; may I have a towel and a cuddle, please?_

Harry keeps tight hold of her as the tub drains and he maneuvers his way out of it, then stands shivering as he dries her off with the little pink hooded towel. He slips her arms through its sleeves and sets her in her bouncer while he dries himself off and steps into his trackies. Millie’s sleepy eyes are particularly green as Harry lotions her almost-elbows and nearly-knees and puts her into another fresh diaper. She clings onto his chest with her face buried against his skin on the way back to their bedroom and she fusses when he has to pull away long enough to zip her into a set of jammies with bears on them.

“Paaah,” Millie whispers clumsily, reaching out towards him before the zipper is even closed.

Harry murmurs quietly and cuddles her close again. “Someone’s a bit needy, eh?” he asks. “That’s okay. I’m a bit needy, too. Let’s get your bottle warmed up and you can drink it and cuddle and get a good sleep, okay? Let’s try for five whole hours, right?”

Millie’s legs churn. Harry fixes her bottle without a hitch and she drinks half of it with nearly-closed eyes, too tired and warm to care much. She manages to burp without spitting up and Harry congratulates her effusively while he sets her down in her bassinet at his bedside. He’s as exhausted as she is, if he’s honest, and he waits just long enough to see her breathing even out before he collapses into his own bed and pulls the blankets up to his ears.

It’s only eight o’clock at night, and Harry Styles, Britain’s newest cheeky badboy and pop singing sensation, is out like a light.

•••

Millie makes it six whole hours before she cries Harry awake, and he thanks her for the consideration as they creep downstairs in the dark to warm the other half of her bottle and make a half-cup of tea for Harry. Then Harry builds them a little nest of sleep-warm blankets in his bed, turns the TV on low, and wonders despairingly whether this is morning.

Harry yawns blearily and Millie’s little hand scrabbles across his skin when his chest rises up with the inhale and takes her with it, sinking back down on the long exhale. Harry smiles down at her where she’s drinking the bottle and staring up at him with huge green eyes. In the background, ITV flickers softly through the dark and Harry draws the blankets up higher with his toes, tucking it around himself and Millie a little tighter. It’s cozy, he thinks, like he and Millie are the only people awake in the whole world.

“You know,” he confides in her quietly, “After we’ve seen this teleshopping commercial like six times, I’m tempted to buy us that smoothie maker. If it actually works, I think we’d get a lot of use out of it. Look, if I order now, they’ll add in the jumbo cup. What d’you think?”

Millie blinks at him and her mouth pops off the bottle. She whines in surprise and Harry helps her find it again.

“You’re right,” he says. “Why would we need a jumbo cup when you’re an extra-small? We could get a Magic Bullet instead. I like that one ‘cause it sounds like it’d be something dirty.”

The bottle slips out of Millie’s mouth again but this time she turns her head away when Harry tries to help her back to it, and she makes a quiet, fussy noise and wriggles to stretch her round baby belly. She kicks her legs aimlessly once, twice, and looks up at Harry with lowered eyebrows.

“Oh, yes,” Harry says, stretching his own back and neck a bit as he shifts her to the other arm and takes a rag from the nightstand to settle over his shoulder. “Spit-uppy time, hmm?”

Millie wriggles unhappily again, but latches her hand over the pulse beating in Harry’s neck as he holds her to his shoulder and rubs her back in soft, insistent circles. She sobs softly twice just before she spits up all over the rag and Harry clucks sympathetically, tossing the rag into the bin and setting about changing her onesie out for a fresh, clean set. She’s all giggles and happy waves of her legs and arms and fingers by the time Harry is finished, so he picks her back up again and lets her nuzzle her face into the side of his neck.

“Oh, yes, you’re a little sweetie,” Harry praises her, kissing the downy curls on the top of her head. “You just want to play. But Dad’s sleepy, little jumpy bean.”

Millie works her legs again and Harry can’t help laughing back. “That’s right, jumping. Alright, we can have a little bit more cuddle time.”

The twinkling, flowery music of the next infomercial and the wash of pink over the room make Harry’s eyes snap up. “Whoop,” he mutters, “Probably shouldn’t let you watch this one.” He makes no move to actually turn off the infomercial for the Vibrating Breast Enhancer Bra, though, and Millie’s not paying any attention as it is, much more fascinated with gumming sloppily against Harry’s collarbone and kneeing him in the ribs with her chunky little legs. Harry hushes her gently and pulls the blankets up again to cocoon them warm and snuggly again against the world.

“This is such a dumb idea, anyway,” Harry comments idly. “You know, firstly, it doesn’t work. But also, just… like, listen, ‘cause you’re a girl even if you’re very tiny: it doesn’t really matter, okay? I don’t want you to feel like – I don’t want to see you go through the things Ashley and Gemma and them all have about how you look. I’d rather you’re smart and healthy and happy than worry about how you look, okay?” Millie makes a gurgling sound that Harry takes as agreement and kisses the side of her head. He smiles against her soft hair. “It’ll probably help that you’re gorgeous, though. From an unbiased standpoint, of course.”

Breaking through the silence, the light on Harry’s iPhone glows suddenly from the bedside table. Harry keeps hold of wriggly Millie against his chest with one arm and reaches out his other hand to snatch the phone, then tucks the blankets back up around them again because the air outside of their nest seems particularly cold.

_On the off-chance since babies are awake odd hours.. are you seeing this vibrating bra commercial ??_

Harry chuckles and Millie looks up at him in surprise, touching his mouth curiously. Harry kisses her tiny fingers and murmurs, “D’you want to talk to Louis? He’s going to live with us and help keep you out of trouble.”

Millie pats Harry’s mouth and Harry laughs under his breath as he holds the phone to his ear. 

“D’you think this thing actually works?” Louis greets Harry. “Because I’m feeling quite insecure about my double-A cups.”

“Sorry, but no,” Harry says, grinning. “You’re just going to have to wait until you can fill out that training bra with nature’s grace.”

“Damn,” Louis says in good spirits. “Happy three in the morning, good sir.”

“Happy three in the morning,” Harry agrees, and Millie’s legs churn again as she rests her head down on Harry’s chest. “Millie says hello. I’m going to put you on speaker so she can hear you.”

He rests the telephone on his knee and Louis chirps, “Hello, Millie! Fancy meeting you at this late hour! Shouldn’t a good little girl be asleep?”

Millie looks intently at the the soft glow beside her but otherwise doesn’t move from her nestled place against her daddy’s ribs. Harry strokes the side of her head tenderly, running his thumb along the curve of her tiny ear.

“She’s a good girl,” Harry tuts. “She got hungry and then she wanted to play.”

“Can she play games?” Louis asks curiously. “Like pat-a-cake or whatever?”

“Not yet,” Harry admits. “She mostly just likes squirming around. But we’re gonna try the airplane game tomorrow. Well, today, I guess. In the daytime. She might throw up on me, though. She throws up _all_ the time.”

“Is that normal?”

“My mum says so, but I hope she grows out of it,” Harry says. “It’s pretty gross.” Millie gives him a sleepy kick. He kisses her forehead. “ _You’re_ not gross, sweetie-bean. It’s just the throw-up that’s gross. You got that from me, I suspect.”

“You do throw up an awful lot,” Louis agrees tinnily from the phone. “Guess I’m going to have my hands full. Or rather, no, like – please don’t throw up in my hands. I meant it figuratively only.”

“I’ll try to control myself,” Harry says dryly. “How’s your holiday been?”

“It’s good, it’s good,” Louis enthuses. “The twins have grown a lot since summer, so that’s been a trip. Lottie’s being a nightmare for Mum. Um, Fizz is the same as ever. And um… my Mum and D – _Mark_ — are getting a divorce.”

“Oh, no,” Harry gasps, hitching Millie up a little higher and cozier in his arms. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis lies. Harry can hear it and Louis knows that, so he pauses and Harry can hear Louis exhaling tetchily through his teeth. “It sucks,” he says simply. “He’s been around since I was like – two, one or two, something like that. It – just it’ll be weird without him around.” There’s another short pause. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Harry murmurs. “That’s alright. If you want to come out here, you can. Any time.”

“Nah, I’ve got the girls; I can’t leave them when I only just got back,” Louis says. “But thanks.”

“Bring them,” Harry urges. “They can meet Millie. I think she’d love it. Hey, little bean – oh,” Harry interrupts himself, quickly hushing to a whisper. “She’s asleep.”

“You ought to go,” Louis says. “Get what sleep you can.”

“Yeah, I think I will. I’m beat,” Harry says and yawns as if to prove his point. “Did you know having a baby is exhausting?”

“You know, I think I’d heard that,” Louis jokes. His voice is soft and earnest though when he says, “Maybe I will bring the girls out. Little excursion to the picturesque Holmes Chapel.”

“Who could resist?” Harry chuckles sleepily. “Alright, ‘m fallin’ asleep. G’night, Lou. Happy end-of-Christmas.”

“Happy not-anymore-Christmas. Sleep well, H. And Millie!”

The phone goes dark and Harry sets it on his nightstand before holding Millie steady and carefully easing his way down to lie flat against his mattress, head tucked into the pillows with Millie rested on his chest. She always breathes so quickly in her sleep and her tiny heart hammers away and her little round tummy gurgles and her legs kick and Harry wishes he could know what’s happening in her amazing, miraculous little brain. Does she dream? How does she think, if not in words?

Did she know him yet? Really?

Did she like him? _Love_ him?

Harry rubs Millie’s back absently as his eyes close and he lets the steady comfort of her warm weight over his heart lull him to sleep.

•••

The next day, Harry is yawning by the tea kettle when the doorbell rings and Gemma calls, “I’ll get it!”

Harry doesn’t argue. He slumps against the counter and rubs his eyes before Millie gives a little yell and he smiles over to her watchful perch in a bumbo on the tabletop. She picks up her ankle and gums at her toes. Harry’s eyebrows lift incredulously as he shakes his head, pouring water into his mug. 

“You’re a weird little thing,” he remarks to her. She doesn’t look like she minds, staring up at him with huge green eyes and drool running up her leg from where she’s slobbering on her foot. 

“Millie!” Gemma sing-songs. “You’ve got visitors!”

Millie’s foot pops out of her mouth as though she understands Gemma’s words, and her little lips round out into an intrigued ‘o’ as she blinks at Harry owlishly, gesturing her arms. Harry smiles, still sleepy and ruing the loss of his tea, and picks her up. Her wet foot leaves a dark little footprint on his shirt over his belly as she cuddles up in his arms, one baby hand patting his neck approvingly. 

“Come on, Millie,” Harry murmurs. “Let’s go see who’s visiting you.”

Millie sticks out her tongue and cocks her head thoughtfully. Harry ducks down to kiss her cheek, then carries her out into the hall, chucking her up and down a bit to see if she’ll smile. Her eyes light up and sparkle at him, and it takes a minute for her to work out her face, but –

“There it is,” Harry encourages her, tickling under her chin. “There’s a pretty smile. Let’s go show Louis your pretty smile.”

The entry hall is a flurry of activity when they reach it, with Louis and Lottie helping the twins out of their big wellie boots and Fizzy quietly picking up, examining, and putting down every framed picture on the side table while Gemma pushes things around in the coats closet, her hair static-sticking to all of the Tomlinsons’ winter wear.

Millie exhales a long breath onto Harry’s face in concern. He kisses her nose.

“It’s okay,” he assures her. “This is your family.” He turns a bit so she can see more clearly. “You’ve met Louis, goofybeans. You like him, right? There he is. Wave and say hello.”

Millie tucks her face into Harry’s neck instead. Harry murmurs and coos soothingly, rubbing her back.

“It’s the baby!” cries Daisy, or Phoebe, pointing. “Oh, she’s so cute!”

“I didn’t think there really was a baby,” comments Phoebe, or Daisy. “I thought Louis was kidding us.”

“When have I ever kidded you?” Louis asks indignantly. He stands up and kicks the last wellington over to the door while all four of his sisters, Harry, Gemma, and even Millie look over to him with no small amount of incredulity.

“This morning,” Daisy-or-Phoebe says seriously. 

“You said the yellow snow outside was lemon,” Phoebe-or-Daisy says accusingly.

“But it wasn’t,” they say together.

Louis at least has the decency to look chastened even as Harry snorts a laugh and Millie touches his nose thoughtfully. “Fair,” Louis admits. “But look, now you see, there really is a baby.”

“Can I hold it?” Daisy-or-Phoebe asks.

“Where’s its pram?” Phoebe-or-Daisy chimes in. “I want to take it for a walk.”

“She’s not an ‘it,’” Harry protests. “She’s a girl, and her name is Millie.”

“Millie!” cry both of the twins, clasping their hands beneath their chins. Harry can practically see the hearts in their eyes. “Like Milly-Molly! We love Milly-Molly!”

“The best one is _Milly-Molly and BushBob_ ,” says Daisy – Harry decides to think it’s Daisy – tremulously.

“No, the bester one is _Milly-Molly and the Punkin Seeds_ ,” argues Phoebe. “It’s about _sharing_ , and Harry should _share_ that baby with us.”

Harry’s eyebrows disappear up into his hair and he laughs, startled. 

“She’s not a toy,” Lottie shushes her sisters. “That’s a _real_ baby, not a dolly. And she’s Harry’s. You can probably hold her if he says it’s okay, but she’s not to share.”

Daisy and Phoebe exchange a look and then peer up at Harry through their fringe. “We’re sorry, Harry.”

“That’s okay,” he says. He bounces Millie gently so that she’ll grin again, and she does, her chin wet with drool. “Millie, meet the Tomlinson sisters. That’s Daisy – ”

“I’m Phoebe!” Not-Daisy corrects him.

“Okay,” Harry amends. “That’s _Phoebe_ , and _that_ one is Daisy, and there’s Fizzy, and Lottie. And you already know Gemma and Louis. Say ‘hello, it’s my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tomlinson sisters; my name is Millie Anne Styles and I’m two months old.’” 

Millie pants a bit and wrinkles her brow at him.

“Okay, we’ll work on it,” Harry promises her as the sisters giggle behind their hands. Millie gives a little monkey-shriek in compromise and Harry laughs and tickles her belly. 

Gemma smiles at the Tomlinsons. “Do you all want some lunch? Or did you stop to eat on the way?”

“Louis bought us crisps,” Fizzy reports. “But not real lunch.”

“You said you weren’t hungry,” Louis protests, “And it was half-ten in the morning.”

Gemma shakes her head and smirks at Harry. “You’re sure you want _him_ to help you with Millie? Might do better with a trained dolphin or a chimpanzee.”

Harry grins at Louis. “I’m sure. Millie _likes_ crisps for breakfast.” He nuzzles Millie’s head. “Don’t you, little chubby bean?”

Millie pants urgently and works her legs against his ribs like she’s jumping up and down. Her fist knocks against his jaw and she twists, flailing a little and leaning out towards Louis with a wild _ooooh!_ shriek.

“Can I?” Louis asks Harry, holding out his arms.

“By all means,” Harry says. Louis plucks Millie out of Harry’s arms and she looks a bit startled that they actually listened to her. She stares Louis down curiously as he settles her into his arms, then reaches up to poke at his face.

“Ew!” cry the twins and Fizzy. “She’s picking his nose!”

“Yes,” Harry sighs. “Yes, she is.”

“I got a clean nose,” Louis mumbles around Millie’s prodding fingers. “It’s okay.” All the same, he uses his free hand to carefully disentangle Millie’s hand from his face and she whimpers a bit until he lets her get a good grip on his index finger. Then she settles her head against his chest, happy as a clam. “What’s for lunch?”

“We’ve got fajitas, or eggs, or bacon sandwiches, or soup,” Gemma says.

“Or baby food?” Daisy asks. They all form a single-file line and trot behind Gemma into the kitchen like a row of blonde ducks. 

“Not yet,” Harry tells her. “Millie’s still just drinking bottles.”

“Who’s her mum?” Fizzy asks quietly.

Harry swallows. “She doesn’t have one.”

“We don’t have a dad anymore,” Phoebe informs him sorrowfully. The mood in the kitchen darkens as a cloud passes over each of the Tomlinsons’ faces. 

“But you’ve got a Louis,” Harry offers carefully. “Me and Gemma don’t have a dad, either, but we also don’t have a Louis. So I’m jealous.”

“Oh, Harold, you flatter me,” Louis says as he bounces Millie in his arms. “But you’ll get a me soon enough. Two weeks until the big move.”

“That’s true,” Harry says. 

“Then we don’t get a Louis, neither,” Phoebe pipes.

Louis turns and lightly kicks Phoebe’s behind, just enough that she scoots forward on the slippery wooden floor and shrieks. Millie imitates her with a little mewling yell that makes the Tomlinson girls all _awww_. 

“You’ll always have a me, Peas,” Louis assures Phoebe. “You’re just gonna have to share me with Harry and Millie. There’s enough of me to go around, though.”

“You were just saying that sharing is good,” Lottie points out smugly.

Phoebe looks down at her feet for a moment and then cocks her head; her narrowed, mischievous eyes remind Harry of every bad idea Louis has ever proposed. “I can share Louis with Millie if Harry will share Millie with us and let me hold her.”

“And walk her in a pram,” Daisy adds quickly.

“And walk her in a pram,” Phoebe says.

“But not change her nappies,” says Daisy. “That’s too smelly.”

Louis and Harry share a look. Harry shrugs, smiling. “I guess I could do that. You have to be very careful and gentle, though, because she’s really small still. You can’t really play with her yet, or anything.”

“That’s okay,” both of the twins chorus.

They each take a seat around the Styles’ kitchen table, Lottie and Fizz across from them. Outside, slush pelts the windows in wet, gray, drab streaks. The backyard and field beyond are an ugly mess of white and brown from mud and melting snow. It’s a far cry from the rolling green and gold of summer, when the boys first met and wondered if maybe a cow was actually an axe-murderer.

“You really weren’t kidding when you said there’s nothing here,” Lottie comments, gesturing vaguely towards the window. “I mean, no offense or anything.”

“It’s alright,” Harry says. “You find things to do.”

Lottie raises an eyebrow and glances almost imperceptibly to Millie, still bouncing in Louis’ arms. “Yeah, I can tell.”

Louis’ eyebrows lower. “ _Lottie_.”

“It’s okay,” Harry assures him, laying his hand over Louis’ arm. “It’s not like she’s wrong.”

Millie reaches out from her perch in Louis’ lap to rest her hand on Harry’s arm, green eyes round and concerned at the look on his face and the new tension in Louis’ arms. She blows a spitty raspberry, then jumps, blinking like she’s startled herself, and looks around over both shoulders just to make _sure_ she really made the noise. The heaviness in the air breaks as everyone laughs and Harry murmurs, _aw, sweetie_ and leans forward to kiss her chubby shoulder. Outside, the sun peeks out of the wooly gray sky for just long enough to light up a patch of the kitchen table. 

Millie looks back to Harry in great consternation and pants a bit before burying her face into Louis’ chest. Louis kisses the top of Millie’s downy head.

“Are we going to eat lunch?” Gemma asks, opening the refrigerator. “Fajitas? Everyone can pitch in?”

“For something to do,” Harry adds with a raised eyebrow aimed at Lottie.

She flushes and shrugs a shoulder. “Sure. C’mon, girls. Let’s wash up.”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’m going to sit with Millie instead,” Louis says. Millie looks up at the mention of her name and Louis grins, rubbing his nose on her nose. “Yes, you,” he coos. “Little chubbiest little stinky person.”

“Hey,” Harry protests. “I just washed her last night; she smells fine.”

“It’s okay, Louis,” Fizzy says from the sink. “It’s better we don’t burn down Harry’s kitchen anyway, so you oughtn’t cook.”

Louis just grins. “Absolutely true.”

Millie pokes her finger into Louis’ lip curiously and pulls it away from his teeth, round eyes staring. “Feee!”

“Ew,” says Daisy. “She’s playing with his spit.”

“Babies are gross,” decides Phoebe. “They just like eating and pooping and bogeys and spit.”

“And sleeping,” Harry agrees. “But she’s also very cuddly and sweet and never gets angry or cross. And she’s never mean. She just likes to snuggle and play and explore. It’s nice.” He smiles and shrugs his shoulders, then pats both of the twins on the head. “Are you all washed up?”

“We’re going to make beef fajitas, unless you all don’t eat meat?” Gemma says, taking things out of the fridge and setting them on the counter. The girls all shake their heads. “Lottie, are you okay with cutting tenderloin or shall I have Harry do it?”

“I can,” Lottie says quickly, just as Louis says, “She never has.”

“I’ll help you,” Harry offers. “Unless you don’t want.”

Lottie’s mouth twists. “Okay.”

“Alright,” Gemma says. “H, you and Lottie should cut the beef into strips, and Felicite, are allowed to cut up vegetables?”

She nods, but Gemma looks to Louis for affirmation before giving her some peppers and tomatoes. Once she’s set up with a cutting board, Gemma bends down with her hands on her knees and looks the twins in the eye. “Now. How do you two feel about mixing up some spices and helping me grate cheese and mash up beans?”

“Okay!” 

While Gemma shows Daisy how to grate cheese into one bowl and gets out a masher so Phoebe can pulverize beans in another, Harry shows Lottie how to keep her fingers clear of the knife’s blade as they cut silverskin away from the meat.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Lottie mumbles after the flurry of activity has moved on around them. “It’s just – makes me uncomfortable, a bit. You’re only like three and a half years older than me, but you’ve got a baby, and that means – you know. Makes me uncomfortable.”

“I understand that,” Harry says. He moves the finished strips into a bowl and drops the trimmings into the trash. “It probably’s weird for Gemma and Louis that I’m two years _younger_ than them.”

After a few minutes of slicing, Lottie looks up at Harry again. “I’ve got this friend – she’s going out with a boy your age.” She trails off, but Harry picks up the thread.

“Did you talk to your brother about it?” he asks. “Or your mum?” Lottie shoots Harry the sort of withering glance that can only come from a twelve-year-old girl, and Harry smirks. “Okay, so you haven’t.”

“Do you think that’s too old?” Lottie asks.

Harry shrugs and looks intently down at the tenderloin. “I’m probably not the person to ask.”

“How old is Millie’s mum?”

“Millie doesn’t have a mum,” Harry repeats. “She’s got me.”

“You know what I mean,” Lottie says impatiently, “She had a mum at one point. How old was she?”

Harry sighs. “She’ll be twenty in two weeks.”

Lottie’s eyes goggle. “Then why didn’t she want Millie?”

“Because she didn’t.” Harry shrugs. “That’s – her life; it’s okay. _I_ want Millie. And I love her, and she’s, you know, healthy and adjusted and everything. Her mum didn’t have to want her for things to be okay.” He nudges Lottie’s shoulder with his own. “And you should tell _your friend_ that _her_ life is _hers_ and any Guy-My-Age who doesn’t think so is an arse. You – or your friend – can make your own choices and things will turn out okay.”

Lottie nods. “You’re surprisingly smart for a friend of my brother.”

“Your brother’s not dumb,” Harry answers, “He’s quite wise when he wants to be.”

Lottie snorts, “Yeah, when he wants to be, which is nearly never. You’re sure you want to live with him?”

Harry glances over his shoulder to where Millie is grinning at Louis, all pink gums and stringing drool and happiness, as Louis bounces her in his arms and chatters away, telling her the plot of _The Land Before Time II_ , no doubt. It doesn’t matter what he’s saying, though, if Millie’s eyes will shine like that.

“Yeah,” Harry answers Lottie, “I am.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	7. Chapter 7

“Why exactly do we have to move all this stuff while you sit around like a lump?” Zayn grunts, hefting the box labeled ‘CRIB’ higher. 

“Because I have to watch the baby,” Harry says – smugly. He bounces Millie on his knee and she preens, flapping her hands. Harry kisses the back of her round head and snuggles her a little closer before turning the page in _Each Peach Pear Plum_. “‘Baby Bunting safe and dry,’” Harry reads, nuzzling the side of Millie’s head. She coos and pats the book’s page appreciatively, whistling through her nose at the drawing of the swaddled baby. “That’s right, a baby like you. And you’re safe, too, just like the baby in the story.” Then he sighs and wrinkles his nose. “But you’re not dry.”

 _Ko-ko-ko_ chatters Millie as she lifts one leg up to kick Harry in the elbow. She chortles happily, nose wrinkled.

Zayn snorts and drops the box of crib padding. “Yeah, right, real tough job there.” 

Zayn shoves the box in through the door of Millie’s new bedroom as Harry brings Millie into the bathroom to change her nappy, since it’s the only room not full of people bringing boxes in and out or hammering together furniture. 

Harry thinks the bathroom of the penthouse Simon is footing for he and Louis is bigger than his whole bedroom in Holmes Chapel.

“Got a nice spread here, yeah?” Louis asks, sticking his head into the room just as Harry’s fastened the tapes on Millie’s nappy. She squeals and waves her arms, grinning at Louis, her favorite friend. 

The feeling is mutual. Louis grins back and gets the nod from Harry to scoop her up into his arms and dance around the bathroom in a waltzing circle while Harry washes his hands. Smiling fondly at their reflection in the mirror, Harry searches in vain for a towel before wiping his hands on his pants: Millie’s grasped onto Louis’ face, palms patting his stubbly cheeks with delight as he blows out them out round like a pufferfish. 

“Ala!” Millie cries, peering around nearly upside-down to Harry. “Baow!”

“Yes, that’s Louis,” Harry agrees, “And he _is_ silly. And he needs to give you back now so I don’t have to unpack boxes.”

“Oh ho, not a chance,” Louis snorts. “I’ve taken the prisoner now and therefore claim warden duty. I already built my own bed; you can build yours, thanks very much.”

Harry sighs. “Fine. Read her _Each Peach_ again, it’s her favorite.”

“Can’t I read her _Heat_?” Louis asks. He chucks Millie beneath her chin and she squeals. “She’d like _Heat_ , wouldn’t you, little round bean?”

“ _No_.” Harry shakes his hair out and sweeps it back. “Just read her the baby books. I put the box… somewhere. I think the living room.”

“Where in the living room?” Louis asks, “Towards the jungle on the east or in the desert of the west? This flat’s so big we’ll need a compass for the first leg of the journey.”

“Bogs to the north, I think,” Harry laughs, eyes shining. “Near the thing that might be a couch, eventually.”

“Oh, yeah.” Louis nods and _boop_ s the end of Millie’s nose. “Paisley Mountain.”

“That’s not paisley,” Harry argues, “It’s tweed.”

Louis blinks at him and rolls his eyes as he sweeps Millie out of the room. 

Harry gets turned around trying to find his way across the massive flat, ending up in the huge chrome kitchen.

Daisy pops out of one of the cabinets. “Hiya, Harry! You’ve got a lot of hiding places!”

“Shhh, don’t let Fizzy hear you!” Phoebe’s disembodied voice trills from inside the cabinet. Spindly arms shoot out and pull Daisy back into the darkness like a Kraken.

“Bye, Harry!” Daisy stage-whispers as the little wooden door thumps shut, “Don’t tell Fizzy!”

Harry chuckles and turns around, almost smacking nose-to-nose into Jay where she’s pulling plates out of the dishwasher.

“Ooh! Mind your step, H.”

Harry apologizes and kisses Jay on the cheek. “Thank you for helping out, Jay.” He rubs her arm. “Are you doing okay? I’m sorry to steal Louis away from you just now, with everything back home.”

“I’m alright,” Jay promises. “I’m so excited for Louis and you and the boys that I can focus my energy on that and it helps day to day. And talking to your mum has been a godsend. You’re lucky to have her in your life.”

“I know,” Harry says earnestly, “What other mum would have agreed to raise my baby while I was on television?”

“Not me,” Jay laughs. “And you can tell Louis – ” she raises her voice to yell into the living room – “that _if he has a baby before he’s twenty-five I will eviscerate him_!” 

“Don’t worry, Mum,” Louis calls back. 

Harry’s heart twinges – Louis hasn’t even told his family yet. But it’s something Harry knows; something that affects their friendship. Louis said he didn’t need Harry to back off, but he did a bit anyway. If he really didn’t need it, then why would he let Hannah take the train down from Doncaster week after week?

Harry kisses Jay’s cheek again and ducks past her towards the refrigerator. “Is this cold yet? I was going to take some drinks around to everyone for helping.”

“Go ahead, honey,” Jay says, but when Harry opens the door, he jumps back in surprise at the sight of Lottie hiding wedged between the countertop and the fridge. 

She holds a finger to her lips. “You don’t see me. The twins haven’t figured out yet to hide separately so one can win.”

Harry nods back curtly, winks, and gathers a six-pack of sodas from the fridge. On his way out of the kitchen, Fizzy bops up in front of him.

“Did you see my sisters anywhere?”

“No,” Harry lies, “Sorry. Try Louis’ room.”

She stares at him blankly, and Harry laughs, slinging an arm around her shoulders to lead the way. In Louis’ new, enormous bedroom with a gorgeous view of the spires of London through his wide windows, Harry tosses a soda each to Liam and Andy. “Thanks for the help, guys.”

He stops in the living room to give Louis a Coke and to kiss Millie on the head. She squeals happily and pulls hard on the string of Harry’s hoodie, and he coughs while Louis laughs and valiantly pries her hand away. Anne is working on filling in the shelves of their massive entertainment center with Gemma around the other side of the living room, and Harry thanks them both with kisses to the cheek, too.

In his own bedroom, Harry finds Zayn and his mother sorting through the boxes labeled _HS & MS_ to cull Millie’s belongings out from Harry’s. He gives them both sodas and then settles down beside Zayn to start building his own new bed. Harry keeps one eye on the door the whole time, watching Louis read to Millie as Millie bounces and burbles and waves her arms, looking up at Louis totally enamored.

After a while, Liam pokes his head into the room. “Harry? Danielle’s just called and – I think we’re going to go have dinner with her and Marcquelle, if that’s okay.”

“Yeah, sure.” Harry nods and heaves himself up from beneath the baseboard of the heavy wooden bed. After slapping hands with Andy, he gives Liam a hug. “Tell Danielle hi from me.”

“Yeah, of course. Um, and Niall said to tell you he’s sorry he missed out – he’s showing his mum and Chris around London and if you wanted, you could join them at Nando’s?”

“Nah, tell him it’s alright,” Harry says. “I can’t take Millie out anyway, but I think I just want to stay in and get the rest in order.”

Liam nods again, then smiles and ruffles Harry’s hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, “Meeting with Savan at half-eleven to talk about staging for the tour.”

“Right, yeah.” Liam’s brown eyes shine with excitement. “A real tour! Can you believe?”

“Nope.” Harry grins. Then he musses Liam’s hair right back and says, “Get outta here; go see your ladylove.”

After Liam leaves, everyone else trickles out slowly. There’s a mass of screaming from the kitchen after Lottie emerges, victorious, from her hiding place and scares Jay half to death, and the noise startles Millie into spitting up all over Louis’ arm. Lottie apologizes profusely, but Jay tuts and shepherds the Tomlinson sisters – all chastened, though Lottie does still look a little smug – out of the apartment with a promise to come back the next day and help tidy up while the boys have their meeting. 

Harry gives Gemma and Anne money for a cab to their hotel and money for dinner and a movie, as well as a kiss on the cheek, before Louis emerges from Millie’s new bedroom. He’s wearing a fresh striped shirt and Millie is cooing, grinning at Harry wetly, wearing a matching red-and-blue striped onepiece with her chubby legs peeking out and tiny toes curling.

“Bee!” she yells, reaching out for Harry. He giggles with his teeth pressed into his lip and his cheeks dimpling: Millie’s little voice is the silliest thing, so high-pitched and squeaky and birdlike.

Harry lifts her out of Louis’ arms and cuddles her up close, where she tucks her hand right away into the collar of his shirt and nuzzles in close to mouth at her thumb. Her eyes sparkle up at Harry, and he caresses her round cheek with his thumb. “Yeah, today was an exciting day, wasn’t it? Do you just want some quiet cuddles now?” He kisses her head.

Louis clears his throat. “D’you want me to order a takeaway?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry says. “Hold on, I think – Zayn?” he calls, “Are you still here?”

“Yeah, me and my mum,” Zayn calls back from Millie’s bedroom, where there’s more furniture to put together than the rest of the flat altogether, it seems. A crib and a changing table and a baby swing and bookcases and dressers of drawers and everything has to be baby-proofed with little plastic locks. “Do you want us to go?”

“No, hang on, do you want dinner?” Harry asks, wandering his way toward Millie’s room to lean against the doorframe. 

Zayn looks at Trisha. “Aaj mein nay khana nahin khaya, iss waja say muhje bhook lagi hai.”

Trisha smiles and pats his cheek. “Eat with your friends, then, sweetheart, I can eat at the hotel. It’s quite posh; I’m excited.” Zayn laughs and holds out his hands to help his mother stand up after being crouched down filling in drawers all afternoon. She kisses Zayn’s forehead and he blushes, looking away from Harry and Louis at the door, mumbling something terse in Urdu.

Trisha laughs and fusses over him for a minute before turning to Harry. “Harry, if – you’d like, I brought a box of old baby books, books for children, that my own don’t need anymore. I’ve put it in the corner if you’d like to look later.”

Harry’s eyes feel warm and he wraps Trisha up in a hug, little Millie squawking a bit in confusion between them. “Thank you.” He lifts Millie up and helps her wave. “Say ‘thank you’ to Gramma Trisha, Millie bean.” He tickles her belly and Millie giggles, drooling and flapping her wrinkled arms, staring up at Trisha. 

“You’re very welcome, Millie,” Trisha says, and smooths back Millie’s soft hair before kissing her head, and Harry’s cheek in turn. She smudges her lipstick off Harry’s cheek and they both laugh, then Zayn ushers her out of the apartment as Louis scrolls through his phone, looking for takeaway.

“Pizza and chicken alright?” Louis asks, looking up as Harry and Zayn drop onto the sofa at either side of him. The apartment is still a wreck: unpacked boxes everywhere, boxes labeled ‘L BEDROOM’ in the living room, boxes labeled ‘LIVING ROOM – HS’ in the kitchen. But there’s a six-pack of beer in the refrigerator and a pallet of clean nappies near the changing table, and Harry can’t quite quash the niggling burn of excitement in his chest that _this is his new home, this is his home in London, he lives in London with Louis and Millie now_.

“Extra sweetcorn,” Harry says.

“Jalapeños and no pork,” reminds Zayn.

“Peebo,” adds Millie, patting Louis on the chin.

Louis kisses Millie’s sticky little fingers, then dials up and orders two pizzas, a garlic bread, and a half-size of chicken wings. He grins at Harry over Millie’s head. “Our first meal as official Londoners.”

“Pip pip,” Harry answers in his poshest voice. “Oyster cards.”

“Millie’s going to grow up posh!” Louis exclaims. “Maybe she’ll have the Queen’s accent. Maybe she can marry into the Windsors.”

“There’s no baby Windsors,” Zayn says, shoving Louis’ shoulder. “Wills and Kate aren’t even married for another four months.”

“Why do you know that?” Louis crows, sticking his bare feet on Zayn’s lap. “God, Harry with his fabric prints and you with your… Buckingham prince, and _I’m_ the one people pick on for seeming a stereotype?”

“Shut up.” Zayn pulls Louis down into a headlock and they start wrestling on the couch, so Harry jumps up to keep Millie away from their flailing limbs. 

“Come on, little bean,” Harry coos, “Let’s go look at your new books.”

Millie babbles and thumps her hand against Harry’s shoulder as he carries her into her new room and kneels down near the box in the corner. They sort through it together, Millie patting different covers appreciatively at the bright colors and whimsical drawings as Harry reads her titles. 

“ _The Very Hungry Caterpillar_ , _The Jolly Postman_ , _Where’s Spot_ …” Harry reads, kissing Millie’s ear between each book. Then, at the bottom, is a bumblebee-yellow and black book that sends Harry into spasms of laughter. 

“Zayn!” Harry stumbles out of the little bedroom with Millie in one arm and the book in the other, “Does this really have a _mirror_ as the front cover?”

Zayn’s head pops up over the back of the sofa. There’s a _thunk_ as Louis rolls right off, howling with laughter. Millie laughs, too, and works her hands as she tries to catch the spots of light reflecting off the book’s little mirror as it catches the sunset’s fading rays through the huge windows of the penthouse’s too-big brick living room.

When the pizzas arrive, Louis bustles around paying for them and bringing them to the kitchen while Zayn fetches the beer from the fridge and Harry buckles Millie into her little bumble seat while she chews on her fist.

They eat and talk about what might come up in their meeting with Savan, who else they might get to meet as they prep for the tour and to record their album – their _album_ , they get an album and singles and music videos and everything, and they live in _London_ now in a penhouse apartment and can afford to pay for their mums to get room service in posh hotels. It’s more than they expected, even when they lived in the X Factor House.

While they eat and talk, Millie babbles away happily, sucking on her fingers and hitting the tray of her seat to hear the drumming sound. She pokes at Zayn’s earring with her toes a few times as the light hits it and he chuckles as he flinches away.

“Can she like, eat baby food yet?” Zayn asks curiously. Millie wriggles around in her baby seat on the tabletop between Zayn and Harry, and Zayn reaches out affectionately to tug on her toes. Millie eyes him curiously and shoves her fist in her mouth.

“No,” Harry says. “Probably this month, though, she can start. It’s supposed to be like four months, and I want to get her off bottles when I can ‘cause they make her colicky.”

“What is that?” Zayn asks. He tickles the bottom of Millie’s foot and she kicks at him, still staring with her huge eyes.

“Just like a stomachache, basically,” Harry says. “But it really bothers her and keeps her up nights after her last meal. And she throws up a lot.”

“Gross,” says Zayn. “How’d you know when she’s ready for food? Has she got teeth?”

“No,” Louis says. “She won’t have teeth yet for ages. But she can have food when she starts like biting with her gums and chomping and stuff.”

Millie writhes again and dislodges her fist, preferring instead to pull up her foot – away from Zayn’s tickling fingers – and stick that in her mouth instead.

“Babies are right weird,” Zayn comments. “They don’t move like people.”

“That’s not her fault,” Harry says protectively before he takes another swig from his beer. “Their bones aren’t done yet. And they’ve got a lot of extra skin.”

“And extra fat,” Louis adds. “Look how fat she is.” He leans over the tabletop and kisses Millie’s head before pretending to munch on her dimpled shoulders. “Fatty little goose.”

Harry looks cross. “I like her fat.”

“You like her everything,” Louis says. He gives Millie a swift kiss on the cheek that makes her wave her arms happily.

“You probably like her poop,” Zayn says.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Harry grumbles, but all the same he leans over the table and plucks Millie out of her little seat and tries to help her stand shakily on her drumstick-shaped, wrinkly legs – although she doesn’t seem to have any inclination to help herself, as she works her knees like she’s bicycling and tips on her toes and just goes limp every time Harry manages to get her stood straight. She grabs onto his forearms with sticky baby hands; Louis and Zayn laugh so delightedly at the struggle that there are tears blooming in Zayn’s eyes.

Millie cocks her head and surveys Harry in judgment.

“Yeah, alright, fine,” he sighs. “You don’t want to be independent, do you, you just want Daddy to hold you up.”

Millie exhales a breath that sounds like _taaah_ and reaches out for Harry, her fingers working slowly. He grins at her with twinkling eyes and relents. Millie pats his chin happily as Harry settles her into his lap, her round belly cuddled up against his chest and her face on his shoulder. 

“Such a daddy’s girl,” Harry chides her, bouncing his arms gently, but his voice is so soft and so fond that Zayn feels an odd pang in his own chest. And that’s odd, because he really does think babies are weird and sort of creepy and usually look like lizards.

Millie really doesn’t, though. She’s too wrinkly and fat and round. She’s a bit more like a shar-pei, he thinks.

•••  
  
•••

A week later, Louis is out showing Stan the sights around London and the Tomlinson women have gone back to Doncaster; Gemma is studying at the library and Anne’s back in Holmes Chapel, and Harry has run completely out of –

“Everything,” he explains to Zayn over the phone cradled to his ear as he bounces a whimpering Millie. “I’ve got no formula, I’ve got no food except those disgusting puddings Louis likes and two jars of puree banana Millie keeps barfing up, I’ve got no baby powder, I’ve got no shampoo, just – can you please, _please_ come watch Millie for an hour or two so I can do the shopping? Please?”

“Harry – ”

“ _Please, Zayn_?” Harry begs, “She adores you! It’ll be so easy! She’s already eaten, and – and you can bring Liam for backup! Please, I just… I’m so hungry!”

Zayn huffs. “ _Fine_. But I’m bringing Liam. If he can’t come, I’m not doing it.”

“Fine, yeah! Call him!” Harry enthuses, soothing Millie where she’s rebelling against him in sharp kicks to his spleen. “Just get over here!”

Harry opens the door before Zayn even knocks ten minutes later. Millie is writhing miserably in his arms, lips puffed out as she roils around. Zayn’s heart sinks.

“Hi,” Harry says, looking frazzled, “Here, take her – ” he slides Millie into Zayn’s arms and Millie actually cheers a little in her surprise. She stops whining so desperately, at any rate, and stares up at Zayn curiously, chugging her legs. “Good,” Harry finishes. He pets Millie’s hair down a little desperately. “Alright, now I’m gonna shower because I haven’t in two days ‘cause Stan’s been visiting, basically – just and then I’m gonna shop, okay, and it’ll take me a while to get to Sainsbury’s and then after I have to go to Tesco so just – watch her? She shouldn’t need a bottle but she might need her nappy changed.” He pats Zayn’s face absently. “Alright, good, good.”

Harry disappears and Zayn hears the shower running, and then a “ _Shit, shampoo! Goddamn it!_ ”

Millie babbles soft syllables and grabs onto Zayn’s shirt pocket, yanking hard. He looks down at her inquisitive face and bounces her in his arms. “I think your daddy’s cracking up.”

“Mithhl,” Millie agrees, yanking at his pocket again. 

There’s a knock at the doorframe and Zayn jumps as he realized they’d never even shut the door in Harry’s fractuous state. Liam looks up from beneath his eyebrows. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” Zayn assures him, “Come in. Harry’s just losing it. Isn’t he, Millie?”

Millie chants _gazzgazzgazz_ as she pulls on Zayn’s shirt pocket and sucks on her fingers, watching Liam with mild disinterest.

Harry runs out of his bedroom with sopping-wet hair and one sock on; he stops halfway across the room to hop and pull the other foot into its sock while patting down his back pockets for a beanie. He spins twice, looking for the bowl that holds everyone’s keys, before remembering that it’s beside the door. He stops just long enough to kiss Millie twice on the face as he rushes out and the door snicks shut behind him.

“Tannoh!” Millie yells, and kicks Zayn in the ribs.

Liam peers at her over Zayn’s shoulder. “Erm, so – what exactly are we to do now?”

It takes Harry less time to shop than he secretly hoped – not that he doesn’t adore Millie and being home with her, but he’s been starting to get cabin fever trapped inside. He ducks into a baby shop after he’s finished with his own shopping and buys Millie a little pair of jeans with a ruffled, elastic waist and a bitty purple hoodie that reads _My Daddy Is A Rockstar_ , and he pays for them with a smug little grin in his eyes behind his Ray-bans. All of his shopping bags fill the entire backseat of the cab home and he sits up front with the driver, listening to Radio1 and talking about The X Factor as though he’d never been on it.

Back at the apartment, after four trips up in the elevator with parcels, Harry stops short and drops his keys into the bowl with a clatter. He cocks his head.

“Why is my baby in a roasting pan?”

Zayn and Liam exchange an exhausted look. Zayn is topless and there’s something unfortunate and pasty stuck in his hair, while Liam’s shirt is completely soaked to his front. They look like they’ve gone through the ringer, or an exceptionally undignified gay porno.

“She threw up all over herself. And all over me,” Zayn grumps.

“It was like _The Exorcist_.” Liam shudders, still keeping his hand propped to Millie’s back where she sits, looking wholly unperturbed, in a roasting pan on the counter.

“You haven’t seen _The Exorcist_ ,” Harry says, trying to hold back a grin.

“Well, she needed a bath, didn’t she?” Zayn asks. He sounds a little hysterical. “And we didn’t want her to drown. So Liam looked up how to give a baby a bath on YouTube.”

“Why YouTube?”

“Because I was trying not to throw up on a baby and everything smelled like weird milk!” Zayn cries, and Harry wonders whether maybe he should warn Rebecca exactly what she’s gotten herself into if this is how poorly Zayn understands children.

“Anyway, you didn’t have any Tupperware,” Liam says. “So we thought the pan would do. It’s the right size. Although I think she’s weed in it.”

“Oh, yes, my favorite part of Sunday roast,” Harry says drolly. “Baby wee.” He has to admit, though, that Millie looks quite cute sitting in the roasting pan on the counter with bubbles on her head. She blurts her lips out when she sees him, and Harry knows she’s asking, _well, what did you expect when you left me with them?_ “How long has she been basting?”

Liam frowns. “I’m not entirely sure. What time did you leave?”

“About half-six,” Harry says, and fetches one of Millie’s hoodie towels from the linen closet. 

“Then she’s been in there since about twenty to seven,” Liam reports.

Harry sighs and picks Millie out of the roasting pan. She immediately clutches onto the cuff of his shirt and kicks his chest with her little baby feet, splattering him with wet footprints. “Come here, Millie, let’s get you dried off and put some clothes on, keep your dignity.”

“Oh, funny,” Zayn huffs. “What about my dignity? I have to go home in clothes that smell of baby puke and look like I was on the wrong end of a circle jerk!”

“The fans will love it,” Harry snorts, folding the towel around Millie. She grins up at him and wriggles against him, kicking her legs again. “Come on, you can borrow a shirt. Both of you.”

Liam and Zayn traipse along behind Harry down the hall. When they pass the bathroom, Harry stops in the door and keeps – rather impressively, he thinks – a straight face as he asks innocently, “Why didn’t you just use the Baby Bath?”

Liam just looks politely baffled, but Harry actually worries for a moment that Zayn might burst a vein or an artery or something. “The what?”

Harry points to it, sitting along the side of the bathtub. “The Baby Bath. It’s got like little holes for her legs and clips into the bath or the sink so she can get bathed. Why didn’t you just use that?”

“I told you that wasn’t for kitty litter,” Liam hisses to Zayn, and Zayn punches him rather hard in the arm. 

Millie takes one look at Zayn’s face and starts laughing, a little burbly sound that makes Harry grin and kiss her hair and sniff the top of her head indulgently while she wriggles and giggles and even Liam smiles back and laughs, too.

Millie laughs so hard that she spits up a little more, and Liam stops laughing then and tugs Zayn by the arm. 

“We’re just – we’re gonna go,” Liam says. “We don’t need shirts. Zayn’s a good-looking lad, and I don’t catch cold easily. We’re gonna go. Come along, Zayn. We’re just – bye.”

“Get Niall to watch her next time,” Zayn groans, looking a little green around the gills as Liam leads him out to the front door.

“Thank you!” Harry calls after them. Then he turns to Millie. “Now, what am I gonna do with you? I leave you to watch them for one hour and I come back to a ruined roasting pan and you’re covered in wee.” He sniffs her head again. “Did Liam wash you with _dish soap_?”

“Pfaow,” Millie says, and pokes a finger into Harry’s lip. “Gop!”

“I know, I did think he’d be a bit better,” Harry confides, running a sponge under warm water to clean Millie up a little better. “He can take care of turtles after all.”

“Nnnnnm,” Millie whistles through the soft palate at the back of her nose. 

Harry kisses her forehead. “It was all Zayn’s fault, wasn’t it. Oh, well. You’ll train him up eventually, won’t you?”

Millie _ta-ta-ta-ta_ s softly, opening and closing her mouth like a goldfish and playing with Harry’s shirt collar while he gently sponges the dish soap out of her hair. Once she’s properly washed and dry and wearing a fresh nappy and flannel babygro, Harry heads out to lie on the couch so she can nap on his chest. She smells good again and is cuddly in her warm sleepiness, and she smudges her face along his shoulder when he settles them down. 

Harry rubs her back and speaks softly so she can doze. “It was nice to be able to go out for a bit,” Harry admits to her quietly. “But I did miss you. I’ve got quite used to wearing you around in the kangaroo. It was a bit disquieting to have to wonder if you were alright. I’m glad of the boys’ help, but I think I’m having a much better time here with you than I did tonight.”

Millie doesn’t say anything, and Harry can feel from the rhythm of her breathing that she’s already fallen asleep, exhausted by the excitement of having two baby-sitters and playing the part of a ham for the better half of the night.

“I love you quite a lot, Miss Millie,” Harry whispers, closing his own eyes. “We’ll just wash that pan out well and never tell Liam when it’s been used.”

•••

Not even two months after The X Factor, after being signed, not even a month after moving to London, One Direction are already doing a photoshoot for the cover of a magazine – one Harry remembers speaking to during the show; they’d brought them cookies. Sugar Magazine, he thinks; they have a website that likes to talk about his hair a lot. He’s glad that Gemma’s still on winter hols and doesn’t seem to mind being put up in a swank London hotel to share with her school books, because it means that she can watch Millie whenever the boys have to go to meetings or events – and it’s fairly often.

Harry’s honestly not sure what he’s going to do once Gemma is back in school.

“So, Harry,” Lauren From Sugar says, settling down beside him on the chaise, “Tell me: who was your last snog, who was your first _celebrity_ crush, and who was your first _real_ crush?”

 _My last snog was the mother of my baby_ , Harry thinks. “My last snog was… a girl from school. My first celebrity crush was Frankie Sandford, when she was in S Club Juniors. And my first real crush was – ” _Clare, before anything happened, before she was even dating Alistair and just worked at Mandeville’s on weekends when she was in Year 11 and I was in Year 8 and an idiot and she slipped me an extra Nelson square because I was the only one who didn’t track mud in after footie_ \-- “Louis Tomlinson.”

Harry inhales and tries to school his face calm. _Louis Tomlinson_? What was he thinking? 

“Who?”

Harry swallows and nods, closing his eyes. It would be fine. Everyone would know he’s kidding. “Louis Tomlinson.”

“Louis Tomlinson?” Lauren From Sugar repeats, sounding delighted. “And how does he feel about you?”

“Mutual,” Harry answers, hearing himself from somewhere outside his head, “We’ve discussed it.”

At least it was half-true – they had discussed it enough to know that there is no crush to be ‘mutual,’ as far as Louis ever told him. And Louis is always honest with him, so Harry had no reason to think otherwise, really. Really. Except something that sits in the base of his gut whenever he wakes up at three in the morning and finds Louis already cuddling Millie, feeding her a bottle or changing her nappy without a complaint even though she isn’t his, and all he does is give Harry a warm, sleepy smile.

“That’s beautiful, Harry!” trills Lauren. She pats his hand. “I’m all done with you; can you send over Niall?”

Harry jumps up and trots back over to where the others are hanging around watching Louis get his solo shots taken; he claps Niall on the shoulder and jerks his head over to Lauren. Niall heads over for his own interview, and Louis strikes a ridiculous Vogue pose. Harry pulls a face and Louis laughs, his eyes lit up and crinkled at the corners with laugh lines even though he’s barely nineteen, and Harry’s stomach quavers.

He pulls Liam’s head down so he can whisper into his ear: “I told them my first real crush was Louis.”

Liam’s head whips around. “What?”

Harry shrugs and looks down at his feet.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Liam pulls Harry away and ducks in close so they can talk in whispers. Harry can feel Louis staring at them while his photo is taken, but that’s just because it’s normally Louis messing with Liam and he wants to be in on the joke. 

“Harry, do you – just, _why_?” Liam asks, shaking Harry’s shoulders. “If you’re messing with Louis, then _don’t_ be cruel like that because – we’re in a band, and you’re living with him, and he’s being so kind to you helping with Millie and you shouldn’t jerk him around for it.”

“I’m not,” Harry protests. “I’m not messing with Louis.”

“Then why are you messing with our image?” Liam asks. “You _heard_ Simon when he yelled at me; we’re supposed to seem like our fans could date any of us. If they think you and Louis are an item, that’s two down already and it makes no sense!”

Harry shrugs. “I didn’t even think about that. I just, she asked – she asked about my first real crush and my first real crush was _Clare_ , and I just – I panicked, basically, I guess. Basically, I panicked and I just said the first name that popped into my head.”

“ _The first name that popped into your head trying to think of a crush was_ Louis?” Liam hisses, “ _And you don’t see how that might mean you’re jerking him around_?”

Harry just shakes his head, holding up placating hands to keep Liam at bay. “I just – I didn’t it that far; I can’t think about it, I just – there’s too much right now, Liam, I’m honestly and genuinely not thinking about it. It’s not – I’m just not thinking about anyone – ” he huffs through his nose, frustrated, “The cameras are looking. Quick, dance with me.”

Liam frowns, disgruntled, but breaks out a mean Mashed Potato all the same. Harry joins in with a Farmer Joe and they’re off, dancing circles around each other in the worst ways they can. Harry thinks the cameras finally turn away when Liam’s broken into a spinning Dirty Bird and he himself is out of moves other than the Akon (Smack Dat). 

Once they’ve wandered off to film Louis where he’s playing football against the wall, Liam grabs Harry and hauls him in to hiss in his ear, “Don’t hurt Louis, Harry. Please?”

“I’m not,” Harry insists, “Liam, I’m not. You know me and Louis are closer than a pair of Twix; we understand each other.”

Liam shakes his head. “That was such a weird thing to say. Why not just say ‘two peas in a pod’?” Then he slams against the wall, Louis suddenly clinging onto his back like a sloth.

“Because that’s such a _boring_ thing to say,” Louis sings, clambering up higher onto Liam’s back and sending Liam hurtling into the wall again as he tries to compensate, “H, what did you say instead?”

“A pair of Twix,” Harry reports, and steadies the tower of Liam-and-Louis by the shoulder.

“That’s a good’un,” Louis agrees, “You can’t bite one of us without the other getting lonely.” He pauses. “Wait...”

Liam purses his lips and shakes Louis off, sending him sprawling to the floor in a Buster Keaton pratfall. 

“Miserous little boys,” Liam mutters, adjusting his shirtcollar and sniffing at Louis and Harry with disdain.

“‘Miserous’ means ‘like a miser,’” Harry muses, trying in vain to pull Louis up from the floor where he’s playing dead. “I think he meant ‘miserable’ but that seems a word he’d know, so now I’m curious what he meant.”

“Maybe he meant miserous,” Louis mumbles, still face-down on the linoleum, “Stingy-like. Since we won’t let him take a bite of our Twix. Wait…”

Harry drops Louis’ wrists and lets him fall onto the floor again. The _ouch_ is muffled by the press of Louis’ nose to the tile. “I’ll take bite of _your_ Twix, stupidarse.”

Louis remains motionless on the floor, and Harry absolutely does _not_ notice how red the tips of Louis’ ears get just as Harry is finally called over for his own solo photo shoot.

•••

Liam calls Danielle on their way out of the studio and heads off with a cheerful salute to meet her just uptown near the studio where she’s rehearsing for JLS’ O2  
show the next night. Niall confers with Zayn for an animated minute, then turns to Harry and Louis.

“We’re gonna go to a club,” Niall says, “Zayn’s gonna buy me drinks now he’s old. You want in?”

“I can’t,” Harry demurs, “I have to go home to Millie or she’ll forget who I am.”

“I think I’m out, too, lads,” Louis says, “If only because by default if Zayn is ‘old’ then I’m an OAP and that offends my Peter Pan sensibilities.”

Niall deflates a bit, but nods. “Alright. Can we get lunch tomorrow, maybe? I’ll even pay. I just – I feel like it’s all different now only you two live together. I never see you anymore except when you’re being ‘One Direction Harry’ and ‘One Direction Louis’ and no offense, mates, but… they’re twats.”

“Oh, Nialler,” Harry murmurs, wrapping Niall up in a crushing hug, “Is our little Nialler lonely?”

Louis rubs the side of his face up against Niall’s cheek like a cat high on catnip. “Nailfile misses his _friendies_.”

“Eh, geroff,” Niall grunts, but makes no effort whatsoever to extricate himself from the affection. “Non-‘One Direction’ Harry and Louis are twats, too. I just forgot.”

Harry gives Niall a last squeeze. “We can get lunch tomorrow at our flat, if you want. Any kind of takeaway. It’s just basically, I don’t know what Gemma’s schedule’s like tomorrow and I feel bad taking up her time, you know?”

Niall nods. “Yeah. I mean, it’d be nice to actually go out and get pizza and a pint, but. I suppose it’s just as well at yours.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbles, shrugging one shoulder. “I just – look, I’ll talk to Gemma and see, alright? We can talk tomorrow.”

Niall brightens a bit. Harry nods to Zayn, who tips his chin in Harry’s direction as he sucks down a covert cigarette in the brisk winter air, white clouds of smoke furling out of his nostrils. 

Harry and Louis slap hands with Zayn and ruffle Niall’s hair before they hail a cab and head back to their flat. Inside, Gemma and Millie are curled up on the floor watching Pingu, Millie in Gemma’s lap with Harry’s blue baby blanket curled up in her chubby fist, pressed to her cheek, and a strawberry-red pacifier bobbling in her mouth. Gemma is gently smoothing through Millie’s wispy curls, unmatting the tangles at the back where Millie sleeps.

“Hi, girls,” Harry sings as Louis locks the door. 

Millie’s head bobs up and her eyes glow as she looks around for the source of Harry’s voice. The pacifier pops out of her mouth with a wet _glip_ as she lifts her arms and yodels a happy little song. Harry grins and hops over the sofa to slide down beside his sister and baby on the floor, and Millie writhes around to fall into Harry’s arms, grinning up at him. Louis vaults over the other side a minute later and Millie waves her arm at him with increasing urgency until Louis catches her hand and kisses her tiny fingers.

“How was the shoot?” Gemma asks, slipping the pacifier between Millie’s lips. “Interviews go well?”

“I think so,” Louis enthuses. “Come February issue, my face is going to be a pinup in every twelve-year-old girl’s room in the whole of Britain. I did one of these – ” he stares Gemma down in Zoolander’s Blue Steel – “And a good one of these.” He Vogues in his seat again, crossing his eyes at Millie and pulling silly faces while she giggles and the pacifier _glip_ s out again.

Gemma laughs combs her fingers through Harry’s curls now, sorting them out just as she had Millie’s, while Harry rests his heavy head on her shoulder. “And how were the boys?”

“They’re good,” Harry says, “Liam’s still on with Danielle. Erm, but – well, Niall’s feeling a bit lonesome since he’s new to England and all, and basically, he wants to go out for lunch tomorrow with me and Lou? But I said I had to ask you about your schedule first, ‘cause I feel I’m taking advantage?”

Gemma sighs and frowns slightly – just the way Anne always had when she was trying to hide something, a crease between her eyebrows and a little leftward twitch of her lip. 

Harry backtracks. “I told him we should just get takeaway here so you could do – whatever.”

“No, it’s alright,” Gemma assures him, “I understand you’ve had a change not living all together and that he’s kind of more alone than the rest of you. I’d just kind of had – sort of vague plans to do a bit of sightseeing tomorrow, it was stupid. I just heard about this organic shop-and-café and I was curious to see it; I wanted to pick up some ideas maybe for the co-op back at school. But it’s alright.”

“Well, Gemma,” Louis says, his own brows furrowed, “Why don’t you and I go over there tonight? I get to take a _lovely_ lady out for a night on the town and _you_ get to enjoy my sparkling company. And a night on the town. And I’ll pay. And not talk too much.” 

Gemma smiles at him. “Alright. Thank you, Louis.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Louis sniffs, “I’m a proper posh gentleman. Let’s get our evening jackets and canes or whatever and head out.”

Gemma kisses the top of Millie’s head and stands, then shakes her hair out of its Millie-proof braid. Louis leans over to kiss both Millie and Harry on the cheek, then jumps up and proffers his elbow to Gemma. “M’lady?”

Gemma rolls her eyes, but links her arm with Louis’. “Good sir.”

They leave, and Millie looks up at Harry with wide green eyes. There’s a long string of drool connecting her lip to her neck, and Harry wipes it away affectionately with the blue blanket. 

“Hello, little bean,” he murmurs. “I missed you today. How was your day with Auntie Gemma?” Millie grasps onto his chin, patting it curiously. “Oh, are you wiping up my drool now, too? Thank you, sweetie.” Harry kisses her palm and then blows a raspberry on her hand and Millie squeals, slapping her free hand against Harry’s chest. Then she cuddles up and smudges her face into his shoulder, breathing in his smell and snuggling close. “Oh, littlest bean. You’re a good little girl.”

An hour later, Millie is sobbing in her bumble-seat while Harry tears around the flat, throwing open drawers and cabinets and pawing through every cupboard.

“ _How are we out of nappies again_?” he growls. He rakes his hands through his hair and looks over to pink-faced Millie staring at him helplessly. “Why didn’t Gemma get more? God _dammit_.” The texts to Gemma and Louis and Liam all go unanswered. Harry peers out the window, and looks to Millie again. “Right. Millie. We’re gonna have to go out. So you have to be quiet, please? I _know_ you’re uncomfortable but we’ll just go to the Tesco right up on the corner, it’ll be so fast and we’ll get you nappies and everything and really stock up this time, okay?” He lifts Millie into his arms and chucks her up and down gently, trying to soothe her as he strokes the back of her head gently. “Shhh, little bean, it’ll be okay. Let’s get you bundled to go out in the cold.” He kisses her forehead over and over. “It’s okay, Millie, it’s okay. It’s okay.” He rests his lips against her forehead and tries to calm his own squirming stomach. “It’ll be okay.”

They’re gone for only fifteen minutes, all said and done. Harry wears a dark hoodie and tucks his hair beneath a knit beanie as best he can, and he wears Millie tucked up close to his belly in her kangaroo carrier and her own tiny winter hat pulled low over her ears to keep warm. She’s still crying the whole way to the store, but once they’re inside she seems startled into a temporary calm, and Harry realizes: she’s never been in a shop before. She’s never seen _crowds_ , never been around people like this. At the checkout, Millie burbles something bright at Harry, her tiny pip of a voice full of curiosity, and Harry kisses the top of her head before letting her grasp onto his thumb while he waits for his change.

The moment he shoulders the flat’s door open, a voice inside yells, “ _OH, thank god! Louis, they’re here!_ ”

Louis runs out of the kitchen, wild-eyed. “ _Where the fuck were you_? Sorry, Millie -- _where the flapjacks were you_?”

“I called you ‘bout ten times,” Harry protests. “We’re out of nappies again; I had to get more, she’s wet and crying.”

Which is true. As soon as they got back out into the cold air and noisy traffic, Millie started sobbing despondently again into Harry’s chest, wet longer than she’d ever had to be before and beyond confused at the situation. 

Gemma presses a hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry, Hazz, it totally flew my mind; I’m _sorry_.”

“It’s alright,” Harry grumbles, extricating one nappy from the pack and kissing Millie consolingly on the face over and over as he carries her into her bedroom to change her. 

After, when she’s dry and smells of baby powder and fresh pyjamas, Millie is all smiles and cuddles and coos. She reaches her arms out for Louis right away and Harry passes her over so she can tuck up under Louis’ chin, sucking on her pacifier and blinking sleepily.

“Harry, I really am sorry,” Gemma apologizes again, “I can’t believe – you had to go _out_ with her, and I’m just, I’m so – ”

“It’s okay, Gems,” Harry promises, “We were quick, and I think she liked the shop. She’s never been in one, has she?”

Gemma shakes her head. “Back home, me and Mum and Robin would trade off.”

Harry nods and rests his head down on Louis’ shoulder. “Millie’s quite sheltered, isn’t she?”

“Well, she’s a three-month baby,” Louis points out. He’s smoothing circles over her back to help her rest, and her little fingers are sleepily spider-crawling up and down his chest right over his heart. “She should be a bit sheltered.”

“It’s just sad, basically,” Harry sighs. “She’s never been to a shop, she’s never been to a park. She’s never pet a dog. It’s sad.”

“It won’t be that way forever,” Louis says, and pats Harry’s knee. “She’ll get into all sorts of scrapes. It’s not like she’s Quasimodo locked in that clock tower.”

“It was a bell tower,” Harry and Gemma say together.

“Whatever.”

“Isn’t she, though?” Harry asks. “Secreted away.”

They’re all quiet after that, and after Millie’s fallen sound asleep in Louis’ arms, he gets up to put her in her crib. Gemma stands to go and hugs Harry tightly.

“You’ve got a good friend in Louis,” she murmurs in his ear. “Be good to him.”

“I will,” Harry says. “I am.”

Gemma pats his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow around one so you can go appease Niall.”

“Right,” Harry says. “Unless something happens to change plans, sure. I’ll call you.”

•••

>   
> **One Direction’s Harry Styles spotted with a mystery infant: does the cheeky X Factor heartthrob have a love child?**  
>  _Spotted out and about purchasing nappies, formula, Monster Munch_  
>  On the X Factor, Harry Styles, 17, made quite an impression on audiences with his near-constant nudity, “cheekiness,” and that small incident with Matt Cardle during the popular show’s high-profile live finale. But has his laissez-faire attitude about sex saddled the youngster with a love child?
> 
> Rumours arose early in the show’s run that Styles’ name had been listed on a birth certificate in his home village of Holmes Chapel in Cheshire, but X Factor producers never even addressed it as the verified scandal of Katie Waissel’s prostitute grandmother broke shortly after.  
>                **More…  
> **              • 'Car crash' Katie Waissel in shock after discovering her favourite grandmother is a £250-an-hour prostitute  
>               •Who said they weren't juvenile... X Factor boy band One Direction show their age as they play in a cardboard box  
>  It seems now that early whispers have been proven true as fans snapped photos of the curly-haired crooner at a London Tesco earlier this week. The young teenager looked tired as he loaded his trolley with nappies, infant formula, and snack crisps like Flaming Hot Monster Munch. In the photos, the singer appears to have tried and failed to hide his signature curly coif beneath a winter beanie and wears a BOBA 3G-brand baby sling – with a brunet infant tucked inside.
> 
> ‘Harry has always been a cheeky lad but his [promiscuity] finally caught up to him,’ says an unnamed source close to both Harry and the baby’s mother. ‘He hid his secret life during the X Factor to get votes from female fans, but he couldn’t keep it quiet forever.’
> 
> The alleged mother, an unnamed 20-year-old from Holmes Chapel, Cheshire, has reportedly been paid upwards of £10.000 for her silence. Our source informs the Daily Mail exclusively that the infant was born during the second week of live shows. Styles is currently living in London with fellow X Factor contestant Louis Tomlinson, 19.
> 
> Styles and Tomlinson performed on the X Factor with group One Direction, which was formed during the bootcamp phase by Simon Cowell and show producers from unsuccessful solo hopefuls. The group placed third, and has recently been signed to Syco Entertainment, Simon Cowell’s multimedia production conglomerate.

•••

Instead, it’s Harry’s phone that rings first at 6AM press time.

“Hello, Harry. Simon Cowell. Do you have a minute?”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	8. Chapter 8

Harry blinks and wipes his hand over his mouth. He’s gotten better at waking up at a moment’s notice, but the little light on Millie’s monitor is still glowing soft red because the only sound coming from her room is faint breathing and soft-blanket rustles, so even though he’s answered the phone and _knows_ that’s what woke him, it takes a minute before it registers and then Harry sits bolt upright and says –

“Simon? Sir? How – can I help you?”

“I trust you’ve seen today’s Daily Mail front page?” Simon asks. His voice is always so dispassionate that it’s spooky – there’s no way to tell what he’s thinking or feeling, but Harry’s stomach sinks as he realizes that there’s only one thing that could warrant a 6AM phone call from Simon Cowell himself, and it’s not a breathless announcement for X Factor Tour tickets.

“I haven’t yet, sir,” Harry hedges. “I’ve just woke up.”

Simon _hmm_ s. “Your child didn’t keep you up too late, then?”

There’s a long pause.

“I didn’t – I mean, I never meant to – I didn’t – well, I did mean to lead you on, I guess basically, but – sir, I did not do it out of disrespect,” Harry pleads, pulling his knees up to his chest so he can curl up tight around himself. “I really, I’m doing everything I can to make sure I never miss any – I didn’t ever take time off on the show and I won’t now, sir, I promise, I – ”

“So, if I told you that you were to fly out to Los Angeles tomorrow for the next two weeks and from there straight on to Sweden for a month, what would you say?” Simon asks. “If I were to tell you that bus stays are mandatory during the X Factor Tour, how would that affect your plans with Mr. Tomlinson?”

“I – ” Harry swallows. He _can’t_ leave Millie again. He _can’t_ , he _won’t_.

But to do that, he can’t lose One Direction, either. He’s got nothing without it, and he just _cannot do that to Louis and Liam and Zayn and Niall_.

“I’d make it work, sir,” Harry croaks. “I’m really committed to One Direction and – I didn’t – I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but – ”

“You realize, Harry, that having a child would be something to disclose when you’re asked in a legal contract filing whether you have anything to disclose that may tarnish your image as a virginal teenage cherub?” 

Harry coughs. “Yes, sir.”

“And you realize, Harry, that not disclosing such to your media handlers and publicity team makes paparazzi photos of you with said child, as there are today, just that much harder to spin into something that doesn’t cost Syco, and One Direction, a very large sum of money and your fanbase?”

“Yes,” Harry whispers, “Sir.”

“You also may realize, Harry,” Simon says, “That it is a breach of your contract to have not disclosed it.”

Harry swallows. “I did not realize that part. Sir. I’m sorry.”

“So what do you propose, with your little brain full of elaborate schemes, that we do to rectify this situation?” Simon asks. Ice clinks in the background and there’s a sound of newspaper crinkling.

“Please don’t fire Louis and Liam and Niall and Zayn,” Harry whispers as his fingers tear into his hair. He blinks desperately and bites his lip, but tears well up in his eyes anyway and are too hot as they slide down his face. “They didn’t – it’s not their fault, they didn’t mean to – they were just trying to help me. Sir, I’ll do almost anything you need to – to make this better. I can’t fix it, but – I’ll whatever I can.”

“‘Almost’ anything,” Simon parrots. “What will you not do?”

Harry licks his lip. “Give her up. I won’t give her up.”

“All said, that would look worse for you now that she’s been revealed,” Simon tells him in his same flat voice. “I have to ask, Harry: the public, and your fans in particular, will want to know about your relationship with the mother. And that is?”

“Nonexistent,” Harry mutters. “Not my choice, there’s no – she doesn’t – she doesn’t want any publicity or money or anything, I promise, we’ve. It’s all water under the bridge.”

“All the same, Syco will need her name to sign a nondisclosure agreement and a forfeiture of any monetary assets that come from sale of anything regarding you or the child,” Simon says. “Standard.”

“I’m – money? I’m not _selling_ Millie.”

“Millie, is that the name? Quite… quaint. And of course you’re not selling the baby, that’s illegal. Really, Harry, don’t be so ridiculous. Selling rights to your story. Photos, if people are interested. After that… everything depends on public reception. We’re already setting you up a very brief, professional interview with the Mail for four o’clock today so that a story can be written by press time tomorrow – ”

“No,” Harry interrupts, then clears his throat again and coughs. “Sorry, sir. Um, but – basically, can I – is it alright if I talk to that Sugar Magazine, instead? For their website? I – they were kind to me yesterday and I’d just, I’d rather… kind of hedge my bets on talking to people who will be kind about – about Millie, too. And not the Mail, who are never really all that kind.” He coughs again. “Do you call that ‘spin’?”

“No, Harry, I would call that ‘fear,’” Simon says, sounding amused. “But alright, if that’s what you really want. I’ll have Jones call them now. Keep by your phone and he’ll ring you with details. In the meantime,” Simon drones, “Do not go on Twitter or any other form of social media. Do not acknowledge anyone about this situation outside of those who are already immediately apprised. After your official statement goes live and we can gauge reception, you and I will discuss your future with One Direction.”

Harry’s stomach twists and he curls up a little tighter around his own knees. “Yes, sir.”

Simon disconnects, and Harry lets his phone ring off the call on its own. He keeps clutching it in a sweaty hand, ripping the other through his hair, as the sun rises outside his window, the window of his brand-new bedroom in an enormous London penthouse that he won’t be able to keep, that he can’t afford, that he has no place in without One Direction.

_What was he thinking?_

_This would never,_ never _be alright_.

“Harry?”

Harry looks up, and there’s Louis in his doorway holding Millie, feeding her a bottle as she blinks up at him with bleary eyes. Her little fingers crawl up and down Louis’ chest in a little spider-walk absently, and Louis cradles her head in his hand tenderly.

Harry’s going to lose Louis, too. _Millie_ is going to lose Louis. 

Harry takes a deep, shuddering breath but can’t help it. He just starts sobbing, and before he can apologize Louis is there, curled up around him with his chin rested on Harry’s shoulder, Millie tucked between them as she finishes her bottle and stares at her dad in great concern. 

“Harry,” Louis whispers, and his breath is warm on Harry’s neck, “Harry, it’ll be alright. No matter what happens, you’ve got me, okay? And you have Millie. You have your mum, and mine. My sisters just adore you both. It’ll be alright, I promise. I really do.” He nuzzles at Harry’s shoulder. “Please stop crying.”

Harry turns to bury his face in Louis’ chest and Millie’s unhelpful hands immediately take the opportunity so rarely presented to her and yank at Harry’s curls with unbridled enthusiasm. She giggles wetly, and the sound of her squeaky laughter makes Louis chuckle, too.

“Little sweetbeans, don’t pull your daddy’s hair,” Louis murmurs, trying to remove her hands. “He’s sad right now.”

“No,” Harry mutters, “Leave it. She can play if she wants.”

Louis caresses Harry’s back in sweeping circles. “Okay.” 

They don’t speak again for the rest of the morning. Eventually Millie tires of pulling on Harry’s curls and instead wiggles her way into the little pocket of space between Harry’s shoulder and Louis’ chest and cuddles up there with her face on Harry’s neck, gumming wetly on his collarbone and lifting her head every so often to burble something in a voice that suggests she finds herself very profound. When Jones calls from Syco’s main office with curt instructions that Harry’s interview with Sugar Magazine’s online counterpart, Sugarscape, will happen at two o’clock at their offices downtown, Louis takes the call, then texts Gemma afterwards to ask for her help in watching Millie for an hour or two.

“Thanks,” Harry croaks, hugging Louis-and-Millie a little tighter.

Louis’ lips brush the top of both Styles’ curly heads. “It’s gonna be fine.”

•••

>   
> **WORLD EXCLUSIVE: HARRY STYLES SPEAKS OUT ABOUT DAUGHTER FOR THE FIRST TIME**  
>  _AND SUGARSCAPE HAS THE ONLY INTERVIEW WITH THE MAN HIMSELF!_  
>  Now, we don’t often post serious news here at ole Sugarscape, but we’re happy to make an exception for the sweet lads of One Direction (phwoar). We’ve been as curious as anyone about the stories popping up on Twitter and in some, er, landmark periodicals over the last few weeks about fittie Harry Styles, so when he called us up and asked for tea and a chat, we couldn’t refuse!
> 
> The mysterious Mr. Styles requested a meeting on neutral turf, so we made sure to bring some backup (in the form of a camera, printouts of some of our favorite #MysteryStyles tweets, and some assorted Ben’s Cookies). And good thing, too, because Harry had his own army of One Direction boys flanking his reserves (we’re looking at you, Louis Tomlinson). Alas, the cheeky chappies didn’t turn up in either army uniform or spy-style trench coats and fedoras, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t pretend that we were Serious Journalists getting our Mystery Styles Scoop.
> 
> And it turns out… we were right.

It was easy to be brave when the idea of talking to the Sugarscape girls about Millie was an _idea_ , but now that Lauren and Kate are sitting there staring at him and offering him double-choc-and-nut cookies, Harry’s wishing that he could sink right into the floor.

But there’s Niall, cuddling into him from one side while happily munching on all of the chocolate and orange cookies, and there’s Louis at his other side like always, one thigh slung casually across Harry’s lap just because. Zayn and Liam are perched up on the head of the couch behind them like sentries, and crumbs are falling into Harry’s hair from where Zayn is picking apart a praline and milk.

Harry’s got his boys. If nothing else, he’s got his boys and he’s got Millie, and he’s really trying quite hard to tell himself that’s all he needs in the end.

“Do you mind if we take video, Harry?” Lauren asks, smiling at him.

Harry freezes a bit.

“No video,” Liam says. “But audio is okay.”

“Alright,” Lauren says, easy-breezy, and she sets a digital recorder on the table. “I’m gonna turn it on now, okay?”

Harry nods. Louis looks over and frowns before he nudges Harry’s hip with his knee and gently squeezes the younger boy’s forearm just above his stack of bracelets. Harry glances over and Louis mouths, _you okay?_

Harry nods and gives Louis’ knee a squeeze back. 

“Alright, Sugarscapers,” Lauren says cheerfully into the recorder’s microphone, “We’re here with the man himself, Harry Styles, say hello, Harry – ”

Harry coughs. “Hello.”

“And the rest of One Direction; we’re quite lucky. Say hello, boys.”

“Hello!” They all chorus, except Zayn, who’s in his own little world with the bits and pieces he’s pulled from the innards of his mangled cookie.

“So, Harry,” Lauren says, not unkindly, “Shall we jump in?”

Harry coughs again and Niall gives him a little headcuddle. “Yeah, yeah, sure.”

“So there have been rumors circulating, that I’m sure you’ve heard, that you have a baby,” Lauren says, and Harry feels a bit sick and wishes he hadn’t eaten that cookie and his stomach is tight and his hands feel clammy and he coughs again, twice, and then he says – 

“Yeah, I do. Actually.”

There’s a silence that stretches half a beat longer than Harry would like, but then Lauren just smiles beatifically at him and pushes the microphone a little closer. “Why don’t you just talk about it in your own words, Harry? Unless you want specific questions.”

“Erm, no, that’s okay,” Harry says shakily. Zayn’s even paying attention now and he reaches forward to push a hand through Harry’s hair. “Erm, to the Daily Mail article, erm… the – her mother didn’t get paid anything, it’s not like that. I just – I paid for like her medical expenses and some of the courses she missed at college. It wasn’t like a payoff or anything bad. Basically, I just – I have a baby, and she’s just about to turn four months old now, and I’ve got full custody, so she’s been keeping me busy. But the boys help, especially Louis. And um, I love her quite a lot.”

Louis beams at Harry from beside him, and Harry can feel Liam itching to say something diplomatic and calming just behind him, but there’s just quiet. 

Then Lauren asks, “So she was born during the live shows?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Yeah, the night of dress rehearsals for the second show. The boys were all so good with helping me stay calm and not go off the rails a bit that weekend.” He pauses and quickly waves his hands. “Not because I was upset or anything! Just she was born a bit early and I was worried; I’m a worrier.”

“He’s a weeper,” Louis says, smiling winningly. Niall laughs and Lauren gives Louis a chuckle and a grin and Harry feels his stomach calm a bit.

“Do you want to tell us a bit about her, Harry?” Lauren asks, feeding him things to say. 

“Erm, yeah, erm, basically, she’s a baby,” Harry says, and Zayn snorts behind him because _obviously_. “She’s quite small but she doesn’t really cry a lot. She’s mostly a pretty happy little bean. She’s only ‘bout four months old, so she’s not like teething yet or talking or anything.”

“She’s just getting into that grabby age,” Louis adds, “So Harry’s curls are always in danger.”

“And she likes like, bubbles in the bath and going to visit my mum because she can pet Dusty, my old cat,” Harry says. “She’s basically just really smart and curious for being so little.”

“She loves Pingu and Bits & Bobs, too,” Zayn says. “And books. My mum gave Harry a bunch of my old books from being a small kid ‘cause my sisters are all done with them, so we like take it in turns to read to her.”

“She likes music,” Liam offers. “Which is good.”

“Yeah, she loves when I sing to her,” Harry says, grinning so bright that his cheeks start to hurt. 

Lauren smiles back at him and says, “Well, who wouldn’t? She sounds like the luckiest girl in England, with you lads all doting on her.” Lauren pauses. “Do you want to tell us her name? Is that okay with you, Harry?”

Louis pats Harry’s knee and smiles at him.

“Her name’s Millie,” Harry says. “But not short for ‘Mildred.’”

“‘Mildred’ is a good name for a pet snake,” Louis muses. “But not for a baby.”

“So are you enjoying being a dad, then, Harry?” Lauren asks. “That’s what it sounds like.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s scary,” Harry says, “But it’s really amazing.”

“What about the impact on One Direction?” Lauren asked. “You just got signed to Syco, didn’t you?”

“Erm, yeah,” Harry says, “Well, I mean Simon and I talked about it and it should be okay. Like, there’s lots of working people who’ve got kids. But I mean, Millie and the band are my two big priorities in my life. Millie comes first, of course, but I’m really committed to One Direction, too.”

“We wouldn’t be the same group without Harry,” Liam says. “We’re really happy to help him out so we can all do this together.”

“Yeah, it’s always been the five of us,” Zayn adds. “We’re gonna stand by him and like, we just don’t sound right without him.”

“He’s the heart and soul of the group,” Niall says, grinning, and ruffles Harry’s hair. “Our curly boy.”

“Our cheeky chappy.” Louis pats Harry’s knee twice with a loud _smack_.

“So do you all baby-sit, then?” Lauren prompts. “You’re like the uncles?”

“We help out,” Liam says, shrugging. “Or we try. Zayn and Niall and I are a bit useless with babies but Louis’ really good.”

“I’ve got little sisters,” Louis says modestly. “The boys aren’t as bad as they say.”

“And even when they are, it’s really funny,” Harry adds.

“Millie always tries to nurse on Liam!” Niall cackles, pointing to Liam’s reddening face. “She don’t do it on anyone else, but hand her to Liam and she just turns her face in and starts to sucking on his shirt.”

“I’ve no idea where she even got that idea,” Harry says apologetically. “She’s never even _been_ nursed, obviously. Like, she drinks from a bottle. And Liam, I guess.”

Louis reaches behind him to sling his arm around Liam’s shoulders. “He may be Daddy Direction, but he’s a born mum.”

•••

The next morning, the story goes live on Sugarscape, complete with audio clips set to a background photo of Harry with Millie in the sling at Tesco. It launches at half-nine in the morning and Harry wakes up to the sound of his phone pinging with a message from his mother: _I love you sweetheart x_.

At a quarter to eleven, Harry sits in the kitchen, a cold cup of tea at his elbow, chin rested on his hand as he scrolls through his Twitter mentions.

 **Worldwide trends** • Change  
Harry Styles  
Harry has a baby  
Harry is a dad  
#GetMillieTwitter  
#DaddyHarry  
#HarryDILF  
LMAOTwitpics  
#ibeliebinangeljustin  
Pray for Egypt  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** OMG OMG OMG OMFG_  
               _I CANT BELIEB **@Harry_Styles** HAS A BABY OMG #GETMILLIETWITTER_  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** i thought you were a nice boy :"""(_  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** is so fittt!! i’d have his babyies!!_  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** BUT WHAT ABOUT **@Louis_Tomlinson**!? HOW CAN LARRY STYLINSON BE TRUE IF HARRY IS STRAIGHT!!!?_  
               _ **@Harry_styles** is **@Louis_Tomlinson** the mom? #HarryDILF #DaddyHarry #GetMillieTwitter_  
               _ **@Harry_styles** such a digussting whore omg i can’t believe he has a baby_  
               _#UBERFACT: 17-y/0 **@Harry_styles** (One Direction) is a father to 4-month baby Millie_  
[RETWEETED BY **@StylesBabyMmmama** & 1025 OTHERS]  
               _ **@harry_styles** #DaddyHarry is a #HarryDILF and should #GetMillieTwitter!!!!_  
[RETWEETED BY **@Belieb4Stylinson** & 97 OTHERS]  
               _Please please please dont call **@Harry_styles** bad naems ; he did the rite thing 2 raze his baby!!_  
[RETWEETED BY **@fiv5Boys1Dream1drecton** & 5 OTHERS]  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** #GetMillieTwitter #GetMillieTwitter #GetMillieTwitter #GetMillieTwitter_

Harry’s twitter feed goes dark as a call comes blinking through on his iPhone: _Simon Cowell_.

Harry closes his eyes. “Hello?”

“Harry; Simon Cowell.” His voice is brusque as ever but less sharp-edged than the last time they’d spoken. Harry allows himself to feel a kernel of hope at that, but then Simon always was the master of building someone up just to tear them down. “You are officially a celebrity.”

“I’m sorry, sir?”

“Do you realize how much publicity you’ve gotten for X Factor and One Direction today?” Simon asks. Harry wanders over to the refrigerator to pour a glass of orange juice with shaky hands and sit down at the table to await his fate. It reminds him of bootcamp. “Commanding the trending topics worldwide means that searches for your name have risen thousands of percentages in the last six hours alone. Surely you must have noticed that your Twitter followers have already hit a nearly a quarter million. Offers for sponsored tweeting, ad campaigns, and paid interviews have been coming in all day, Harry, even from America.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Harry says mildly. “The followers.”

“I’d suggest you acknowledge them shortly,” Simon says in a character of voice that betrays the idea of ‘suggestion’ in favor of ‘obligation.’ “I’m very pleased with the way you boys handled that interview with Sugarscape, Harry.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“If you’re interested, now that you’ve got your feet wet, there are offers from magazines with much more clout that are prepared to pay handsomely for official photos of your daughter – ”

“No,” Harry interrupts, then swallows. “I’m sorry, no, sir. I don’t want to exploit my daughter.”

“You’d be a very rich man, Harry.” Simon’s voice is toneless as ever. “Babies are expensive.”

“I’m hoping to manage,” Harry mumbles. “I just want her to grow up normal. I don’t want to give people things to criticize more than they would anyway.”

“That,” Simon says, “Is an admirable goal.”

There’s silence between them for a moment and Harry can hear ice clinking on Simon’s end of the phone. He Harry wonders where the older manhe is today – New York, London, Los Angeles, Marbella, Mallorca. He wonders whether Simon even needs to hold his own glass or whether he has a butler to hold it for him, or Sinnitta dressed in some sort of whiskey-dispensing ice bikini. 

“Am I going to be allowed to continue in the group, sir?” Harry asks finally.

Simon actually laughs on the other side, one of the flat chuckles he saves for when he’s really pleased. “Stay in the group? You’re officially our leading man.”

“Oh, no, I don’t want that,” Harry says quickly. “I don’t do anything extraordinary and the other boys work just as hard. I don’t want to be like the center of attention.”

“Well, like it or not, you rocketed to international fame today,” Simon says. It’s not quite unkind – maybe even, Harry thinks, it’s fond. “Embrace it. It’s just the beginning for you in so many ways.”

Harry opens his mouth to thank him, but Simon disconnects without saying goodbye. The phone flips back to his twitter mentions and Harry sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. He leaves the phone on the table to pour another orange juice, and Louis wanders in, carrying Millie tucked into his chest, while Harry’s in the fridge.

“Can I have that half a sandwich I left in there Thursday?” Louis asks, then touches Harry’s waist. “You doing okay?”

Harry nods and digs out the sandwich. “Yeah. Just talked to Simon.”

“What’d he say?” Louis asks. He settles Millie into her baby seat on the table and she kicks her legs happily, fat feet clanking against the plastic. Harry takes out a jar of Heinz Apple & Banana Breakfast to try Millie out on food again, and Louis snaps the bib around her wrinkly baby neck.

“I’m still in the band,” Harry says simply. “I guess the response has been mostly positive.”

“That’s great!” Louis enthuses. He ruffles Harry’s hair. “I told you it’d be okay!”

“You did no such thing,” Harry says. “This sandwich is disgusting, Lou, it’s gone so bad it’s almost circled around to fresh again. As in it’s a living creature. I’m making you a new one.”

“My best little house-husband,” Louis sing-songs, and Harry thwacks him good in the side as Louis goes past him to get the kettle going.

“Fuck off,” Harry says lightly, buttering a slice of bread for a Branston Pickle and cheese. “Apparently all the trending topics today are about Millie.”

The girl in question shrieks happily and Harry forgets the sandwich and swoops over to kiss her face all over. “Yes, you!” he coos, tickling her round belly. “Are you going to have an extra-exciting day and eat all your apples and bananas?”

“Baow!” Millie agrees, dancing her feet up Harry’s forearms. “Ta-ta-ta!”

“Yeah.” Harry grins and nods. “That’s a good idea, Milliebean.”

“Bloody hell, Hazz,” Louis says suddenly, looking up from his own phone. “You really are every trending topic. Listen to these, ‘Daddy Harry,’ that’s weird. ‘Harry DILF.’ That’s kinda creative. ‘Get Millie Twitter.’ What’s a baby to do with a twitter account?”

“Who even knows?” Harry asks. He blows a raspberry on Millie’s tummy and she grabs handfuls of his hair with gleeful abandon; Harry extricates himself with a wince and goes to finish making Louis’ sandwich, crumbling over himself a bit in the knowledge that yes, he really is a house-husband, isn’t he.

“Wowee!” Louis whistles. “Hazz, have you seen your twitter followers? 272,019. No, 346. No, 512. _Goddamn_. You’re right famous.”

“Well, I don’t – what’re your followers?”

“Erm… 102,416?” Louis offers. “That’s a good bit more than yesterday.”

“That’s not fair.” Harry frowns and sets the sandwich in front of Louis, then tickles Millie’s toes absently. “You’re in the band, too. And you’re helping with Millie.”

“Well, I’m not her dad,” Louis says easily. He takes a gigantic bite of sandwich. “And my hair’s not so curly and good.”

“Shut up,” Harry mutters affectionately as the lid of Millie’s baby food jar pops. “Get ready to duck and cover.”

“Why does she think it’s so funny when that spoon’s coming to her face?”

“No idea,” Harry sighs. Then he smiles at Millie and leans down to blow a raspberry on her belly again. “Ready for your food, Milliebean? Fill up your jiggly belly with some good fruit?”

“Tch-tchee,” Millie whispers, grabbing out for Harry’s hair again. She kicks him in the neck and Harry grunts.

“Here,” Louis offers, making grabby-hands to rival the baby’s. “I’ll feed the monster and you can address your adoring, clamoring audience on the internet.”

Harry sighs. “Okay.” 

Louis holds his sandwich between his teeth and loads up a little spoon with baby food. “Okay, Silly Millie! Let’s try this again! Now remember: the food goes in your mouth and then you swallow it and goes in your tummy. It does not go in your mouth and then on my face.”

“Ffffffffffffff,” Millie chortles, kicking excitedly against her booster. “Teeteetee!”

Louis turns to Harry, takes the sandwich from his face, and says, “You don’t need to watch this, Harry. Just know that I was once a man with great dignity and solemnity.”

“No, you were not,” Harry mumbles, his thumbs paused over the touchscreen of his phone. “Hold on, I’m composing a tweet.”

“History in the making,” Louis snorts back, bringing the spoon up to Millie’s lips. Her sticky baby hands grab at his wrist and he pulls back. “No, Millie. Food in the mouth, then swallow, and the tummy. That’s it.”

“Tumtumtum,” Millie whispers, nodding like she understands. She pokes her finger into the spoonful of banana and giggles.

Harry watches Louis’ struggling attempt to keep both Millie and himself (and the booster and table and general kitchen) clean and he smiles, suddenly content and sure and _hopeful_ that this really will all work out.

 **Just watching Louis try to feed Millie some breakfast...who’s messier?**  
Instantly, the replies pour in:

               _ **@Harry_Styles** whose messier millie or niall? ;) #GETMILLIETWITTER_  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** lol omg pix plz #GETMiLLIETWiTTER_  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** hoarribl role modal dont try 2 pertend lyke its oaky 2 hav a babby_  
               _LARRY STYLINSON LIVES!!!!!!!!! **@Harry_Styles** **@Louis_Tomlinson**_  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** **@Louis_Tomlinson** #HarryDILF #LouisMILF #GetMillieTwitter pics please_  
[RETWEETED BY **@StylesBabyMmmama** & 5 OTHERS]  
               _ **@Harry_styles** is **@Louis_Tomlinson** the mom? #HarryDILF #DaddyHarry #GetMillieTwitter _

**#GetMillieTwitter? Millie is very grateful for your interest but shes not very good at typing since shes 3mos old.. .x**

“Oh – fff, bugger-shit!” Louis yelps and Harry looks back up to where Millie is picking apart the fallen sandwich in her lap and Louis is wiping yellow sludge from his face. Millie cackles happily and more bananas dribble out from her lips as she smushes her fingers experimentally through the Branston Pickle and cheese covering her lap.

Harry levels Louis with a flat look. 

“She punched me!” Louis cries. “I had the sandwich in my mouth to hold it and she punched me right in the jaw and I dropped it!”

Harry sighs.

**Louis’s messier…will take a twitpic after everyone’s had a bath…!**

Then he sets his phone aside, holds out his hand, and takes the spoon Louis offers him as the older boy flits off to take a sullen shower. Harry looks down at Millie, who grins up at him with a face full of pickle and banana, and shakes his head.

“Little miss,” he says, “What am I to do with you?”

“Pfaow tee-chee-tee!” she shrieks, and throws a bit of cheese at him. “Da-dadada!”

Harry’s face flushes warm and he smiles to himself even though his mum warned him that she wouldn’t understand what her sounds actually meant for another few months, and that ‘da’ was just a sound that felt good in babies’ mouths. He likes it anyway, and he hopes that if he always smiles at her when she says it, she’ll understand.

He wraps a finger around two of her little toes and tugs on them playfully. She shrieks again and stuffs a pickle-covered fist into her mouth.

Two hours later, once Louis is clean and has gone ‘round to Pret to get fresh lunch things for himself and Harry – and reports that while he was out, he was _mobbed_ by photographers and maybe he shouldn’t have worn the onepiece this time, given all the upcoming ‘baby’ jokes that were sure to surface in the Daily Fail – and Harry’s eaten his prawn wrap with a messy Millie shrieking wildly and trying to snatch at his sandwich and hair in alternate ninja baby-fists, Harry gives Millie a bath and dresses her up in one of the dresses Gemma bought her over Christmas. He puts on his own favorite black jumper and fixes his hair, then sits with Millie in his lap on the sofa.

Louis takes three pictures and sends the best to Harry to tweet.

**The only girl in the world, all clean after Louis covered her in Branston Pickle .x pic.twitter.com/w94649t**

Once Harry is busy getting Millie back out of the dress she’s gnawing on and is shouting from the bedroom to Lou that he should _call the boys and make plans for dinner out, then, since the cat’s out of the bag and all things are going well_ , Louis tweets the _worst_ picture on his own account. Millie is grinning toothlessly and pulling Harry’s hair as hard as she can, nappy hanging out of the bottom of her dress, while Harry’s elastic face is contorted into an obvious indignant howl.

**Two devils with angel faces!!! #grabbystage #stolemysandwich #harryDILF**

•••

The next few weeks are more intense than Harry could have imagined. On top of endless interviews and ruthless paparazzi stalking, Gemma’s winter hols end and she heads back to Sheffield for Uni, leaving Harry and Louis truly alone with Millie for the first time. Public knowledge of her makes it easier to leave the house – since they can just bring Millie, bundled up warm for the February air and tucked close in the kangaroo – but keeping her happy during long business meetings, tour rehearsals, and stylists’ meetings is a chore unto itself.

“Harry, these bags under your eyes could carry _Cher_ ’s luggage,” Lou Teasdale, Harry’s favorite hairstylist, comments as she trims his fringe. “Fatherhood being difficult?”

“Not particularly on its own,” Harry yawns. “Just in combo with being a pop idol, basically. B’I’m alright. How’re you?”

Lou smiles and her cheeks flush pink. “Really good, actually, I erm – well it’s nice to see you can handle an X Factor tour with a baby, innit?”

Harry looks up and Lou chastises him quickly, tilting his head back where she needs it to keep trimming. Harry’s green eyes shine and he grins at her. “Lou, are you pregnant?”

“Six weeks along,” Lou confirms. “It’s a bit early on, so – don’t spread it around.”

“Congratulations,” Harry effuses. “Have you told Tom?”

“Yeah, of course, stupid,” Lou laughs. “Like I’d tell _you_ first, just ‘cause you’re the only one I know’s got a baby. Turn your head left – other left, Harry, honestly!”

“That’s really ace,” Harry says, grinning. “Millie’ll have a friend.”

“Yeah; right?” Lou asks, laughing. “So, erm, I’m happy to watch her on the tour if you need while you’re performing. Get some practice in with a little babe’d be good for me.”

Harry sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Thank you so much, Lou.”

“Don’t thank me, Harry. Just tilt your head the other way. Not – no, not _back_ , just _turn it_ , for christ’s sakes – ”

After that, when the band are all gathered in Harry-and-Louis’ apartment waiting for their takeaway to arrive, Liam holds up a stack of thick, glossy papers from the coffee table. “What are these?”

“Offers from… Heinz, PlumBaby, BOBA, and Kiddiecare,” Harry recites, bouncing Millie on his hip. He turns to look at her and kisses his nose against her nose. “But you don’t want to be a famous baby face-model, do you? No, pretty girl, you want to be fat and happy and don’t want to fall in with all those skinny cokehead baby models.”

“I don’t think that’s how baby models work,” Zayn comments, not looking up from his phone.

“It might be useful, Harry,” Liam says. “Babies are expensive and maybe it will help out to be able to get things delivered on tour or whatever.”

“I don’t think she’d get like a nappy entourage,” Harry says. “And I don’t want to sell out my baby. End of.”

“Well, I’m glad,” comments Niall, tossing a few more Spicy Mango Curry Walkers crisps into his mouth. “I think it’s good you’re not trying to cash in on her. We’re a band and we’ll be famous for being a band, not for you having a baby. That’s how it should be.”

“I agree,” hums Louis. He slings his arm around Niall’s neck and steals a crisp out from between the blond boy’s fingers.

Niall shrieks like he’s been jabbed with a cow prod and Millie echoes him, giving an almighty screech in Harry’s ear.

“We should have her sing the high notes.” Zayn sticks a finger in his own ear and looks troubled. “I didn’t know humans could make that sound.”

“I’ve heard Harry make it, too,” Louis says, crunching on some of Niall’s crisps. “I blew a fuse once while he was showering and when the hot ran out he screamed just like that.”

“I like to think it was more of a manly shout than a scream,” Harry says drily as he clicks his jaw back and forth to try to chase the ringing out of his ear. Millie giggles and grabs onto his chin, then snuggles her face into the curve between his jaw and neck and shoulder. Harry smiles softly and tilts his head down to brush a little kiss over the curly side of her head. 

All of the boys sleep over after they finish their curry, and at four o’clock in the morning, the shuttle car picks them up – followed by separate cars for all of their luggage, including the collapsible playpen and bouncing chairs and origami changing table for Millie – to take them ‘home’ to Fountain Studios to board the X Factor bus.

“Tallim,” Millie comments, patting Harry’s cheek. She’s wearing heavy-duty pink headphones to protect her ears from the roar of the bus wheels and she looks unholy cute: Harry can’t stop grinning at her, and at Louis over Millie’s head. Millie yells in her loudest, bubbly voice, trying to hear herself as Harry climbs the bus steps. “Kannambo!”

“That’s right, Millie,” Harry agrees, and a crease folds between Millie’s brows when she can’t find his voice. Her lower lip quivers and Harry jogs up the rest of the steps and carries her through the narrow hall to the back bunks so he can remove her noise-dampening headphones. He lifts them carefully from her head and coos, “Hello again, little Millie bean,” and Millie’s eyes light up with joy and relief that she can hear Harry again. “We’re on a big adventure, aren’t we?”

Millie grins wetly and flaps her hands, patting Harry’s chest. Harry leans in and nuzzles against her nose in a little butterfly kiss.

Louis smiles at them as he squeezes through the narrow hall of the bus, hauling his own duffel bag and Millie’s gigantic diaper bag. “We got nice digs here. There’s plenty of room for the playpen and all.”

“That’s true,” Harry says. “Millie, do you want to practice rolling over?”

Millie frowns.

“I know, I know,” Harry sympathizes, “Rolling is so difficult. But you’ve gotta learn soon or else I’ll worry. Let’s give it a try.”

He slides down to sit on the floor and Louis heaves the bags onto a bunk before sliding around to sit beside Harry. Louis takes the blue blanket from Millie’s care bag and holds it out while Harry sets Millie on her belly on a foot away on the carpeted floor. Millie looks around for a few seconds before locating Harry, Louis, and the prized blue blanket. 

“Nop!”

“No, sweetie, I’m sorry,” Harry says, waving the blanket a little. “You’ve got to come get it.”

Millie’s brow furrows, and she grunts through her nose as she reaches out, fingers working hard. “ _Nnnnng_.”

“You can do it, little bean,” Louis encourages her, nodding in earnest. “Just roll over.”

Millie scowls and reaches a bit further, the top half of her little potato body arcing into a mini-pushup.

“That’s it!” Harry cheers.

“You’re so close!” Louis adds.

Harry waves the blanket again and Millie whimpers, rocking back and forth, face pink with effort.

“Oh, Harry, I hate this part,” Louis whines, burying his face in Harry’s shoulder and peeking out with one eye. “She always looks so upset.”

“She’s got to learn,” Harry says firmly, patting Louis’ thigh with his free hand. He smiles at Millie. “Come on, baby, you can do it!”

Millie’s face crumples into a dark leer and she lets out a guttural yell, and then –

Panting, Millie stares up at Harry and Louis from where she lies on her back, green eyes damp and drool running down her neck.

“Yay!” Harry and Louis both cheer, and Harry lets Millie grasp the blue blanket. She mewls and pulls it closer, cuddling it up to her chest. Harry gently moves the blanket away from her nose and mouth and uses its soft weave to wipe up the drool. “Good job, sweetie. I knew you could do it.”

“Big adventure, for sure,” Louis agrees, and leans down across Harry’s arm to blow a raspberry on Millie’s jelly belly. She blinks and smiles, too tired to laugh, but her eyes glow at Louis with fondness. Louis tickles her tummy with one finger and looks up at Harry, his own eyes shining. “Do you realize that we’re heading off on tour… and Millie’s on the move? She can roll around to get places.”

“She won’t be able to get from back to front for a few weeks yet,” Harry assures him. “That takes more neck muscles than she’s got.”

“I dunno about that,” Louis says. “She’s got a pretty monster neck.”

Harry jabs his elbow into the soft pudge of Louis’ own stomach, and Louis grunts. “Shut up, you. She’s got just the right amount of neck.”

Louis flops over to lie beside Millie, and she gurgles once, smiling, as they look at each other side-by-side.

“Maybe for a sumo wrestler,” Louis says.

Harry rolls his eyes and lies down on Millie’s other side, laying his hand protectively over her gurgly tummy. “For a Millie,” he says with conviction, and Louis just smiles at him and rests his hand beside Harry’s on Millie’s belly.

Slowly, after the others have filtered onto the bus and the wheels are churning below their heads, Harry- and Louis’ fingers lace together as Millie’s breathing evens out into a deep, accomplished sleep, safe and warm and cradled between them.

Liam sits up on his bunk, scrolling through his cache of downloaded movies and typing every so often as he reorganizes them (“Cartunes,” “Computer Cartunes,” “Pixar Cartunes,” “Movies”), and pretends not to be watching as Harry squeezes Louis’ hand and Louis blushes at the tips of his ears, Adam’s apple bobbing jerkily as he swallows.

He’s wondered before about what they’re like in that big apartment, Harry and his baby and Louis – because well, Liam’s wondered about how Millie will be without a mum, and what Louis is like helping them out, whether Louis is a baby-sitter or a big brother or what. But it seems like Louis is more of a second dad, and that worries Liam, just a little. He’d sat with Niall over lunch the day the existence of Millie broke to the public and they talked about how much harder it was to feel close to Harry and Louis knowing they had a complete other life with each other outside of the band. They showed up places together and they left together; they had their own coded language of ‘remember that we need to – ’ ‘yeah, yeah, we’ll stop on the way back’ and jokes made of gestures and facial expressions. Liam wondered how ‘together’ they were at home, too.

And now they would all be sharing a bus for the next three months, just like they did during the X Factor. Niall hoped it would bridge that little gap between HarryandLouis and the rest of them, but now, as Liam looks at their linked hands over the living, breathing tether between them, he isn’t sure that there ever will be a way to feel like part of HarryandLouis’ world again, really.

If there ever really was for Niall and Zayn, then Liam feels badly for them losing it. He knows what it’s always felt like from the outside.

It takes them just over two hours to get to Birmingham, and Millie’s waking with a mewl and a wet nappy and a hungry belly as they pull in. Wordlessly, Louis fixes her a bottle while Harry changes her, and Liam can’t help being a little amazed – and a little fazed – by how intuitive their choreography around each other and around little Millie seems to be, and how they move around each others’ space like it’s their own. Harry slips her big pink headphones down over Millie’s ears once she’s bundled back up in her teddy-bear fleeceand kisses her cheek, but Louis is who carries her down the bus steps and into the venue. 

Paparazzi photos blaze up all around them, everyone trying to get the scoop on the X Factor baby’s baby, but Louis makes silly faces for Millie to stare at and giggle the whole way. With her headphones on, she seems to barely register that anyone else is around.

Liam puts his arm around Harry’s shoulders and helps pull him into the Birmingham LG Arena. “You’ll be okay, Hazz. It will all be fine.”

Inside the arena, Harry introduces Millie to Lou Teasdale, and they seem to hit it off well enough. Millie looks distressed when both Harry _and_ Louis leave her, but they can’t stay – they have a rehearsal to walk through, levels to check, costumes to change into and hair to get styled. All of the boys play with Millie where she’s propped up in the bumble seat in the middle of her portable playpen as they wait for their turn in the makeup chair, and no one makes Millie laugh harder than Niall, who pulls silly faces until Millie laughs so raucously she tips herself right out of the seat and lands on her face on the floor of the playpen.

Harry jumps out of the makeup chair as Louis dives out of Lou’s hairstyling chair to reach into her playpen and lift her back up as Niall apologizes and apologizes, but Millie is still laughing when Harry lifts her up.

Harry chuckles in relief that she’s alright and laughs outright at the drooly joy on her face, and the tension in the room breaks as Harry and Louis cover Millie’s little head in kisses. 

Everything is going to be fine.

And everything is fine during the show – right up until they’re announcing “Forever Young,” the last song of their set, the one they never even got to do on the show, and Harry steps up to thank the crowd –

And there are boos.

Lots of them.

Not the whole crowd, not even half – but enough to be heard over the cheers and screaming. Enough to fill the hall with their lowing, enough that this will be the story every newspaper in the UK reports as the kickoff of the X Factor Tour.

Harry stops short as the words die on his lips. His stage adrenaline seems to leave him in a rush, and he can’t feel his fingertips or face and he’s suddenly exhausted, swaying on his feet, wanting to just…

Go home. 

But home isn’t Holmes Chapel anymore in the newly-babyproofed bedroom in his mother’s house; home is a London penthouse with Louis and _fucking dammit, he can get through this for Louis to keep that their home_. 

Four warm hands find Harry’s shoulders, squeezing, but Harry doesn’t need it. He takes a deep breath, smiles anyway, and says, “A massive thank you to everyone in Birmingham for coming out tonight and a massive, massive thanks to everyone who voted for us; it’s a dream come true to be out here tonight ‘cause we’re just five normal lads and stuff like this just doesn’t happen for lads like us.”

They sing their last song, and if Harry’s voice shakes on his solo… well, that’s nothing new. Louis’ comforting hand never leaving the small of his back is, though, and it helps more than Harry would have thought just to push out the words and keep going.

They stagger off the stage and all four boys fold Harry into a hug. Niall nuzzles into the side of Harry’s neck, and Louis squeezes Harry tight, and Zayn keeps patting Harry’s back while Liam just holds them all like an anchor.

It isn’t going to be easy.

But it’s going to be okay.

•••

After the shaky start to the tour, Harry doesn’t want to go out to dinner with all of the others – he’d rather stay behind with Millie, playing peekaboo and airplane and helping her practice rolling over to catch her toys or get butterfly kisses across her nose. Louis gives Millie a kiss on the forehead on his way out, and stops to squeeze Harry in a fierce, protective hug.

“I’ll bring you back some exciting, exotic, foreign _Birmingham_ food,” he promises, muffled into Harry’s curls. “Something with old-fashioned Birmingham onions.”

Harry snuffles a laugh into Louis’ shoulder. “Don’t put yourself out over me.”

“Never, Harry,” Louis promises. He lingers a moment like he might kiss Harry’s forehead, too, but instead he just ruffles Harry’s hair sharply and jigs out of the bus.

Harry gives Millie her evening bottle, their timing all messed up by the lateness of the show and Millie’s long nap down in the greenroom, headphones muffling the show to a quiet thumping lull like a heartbeat, on the babycot in her playpen. Millie blinks up at Harry, smiling around the bottle’s nipple, and formula dribbles out of the side of her mouth and down her neck.

Harry smiles back and sniffs, blinking damp eyes. He mops up the formula dribble with the corner of her blue blanket. “Just drink nicely, sweetie, or you’ll get all tummyache-y again.”

Millie just pumps her legs and pats Harry’s cheek, and Harry eases back to sit curled up alone in the tour bus – not really part of the boy band of popstars he was on stage tonight, and not quite at home enough to just be a dad. Being both, at the moment, feels a bit more like being neither.

Millie starts fussing around midnight. Harry blinks himself awake with a matching grumpy groan. She’s got her colic face on in full and Harry puts a rag over his shoulder before he coos and picks her up, rubbing her back in soft, patting circles.

“Hey, silly bean,” he murmurs as she whimpers, kicking against his ribs. “It’s okay… c’mon, it’s alright…”

The bus turns a corner and Harry stumbles, catching himself on the corner of the bunks. Millie cough-squeaks in surprise and it seems to startle her calm for a moment.

Harry looks at her. “Well, that was odd. You’re a weird bean, Silly Millie. And although apparently you like it when I fall over, I don’t fancy dropping you on the floor. Let’s go out to the couches, there we go…”

The bus turns again and Harry lurches out to the main sitting room; Millie spits up a bit in appreciation and he sighs before turning on his heel back into the sleeping quarters to clean her up and change out the rag for a clean one.

“I can’t wait ‘til your colic is over with,” he tells her drolly. Millie kicks out at him with both legs and punches out with both arms as she squirms unhappily, so Harry leans down to kiss her belly and apologizes: “I know, I know, I’ve no right to complain when it’s your problem. I’m sorry.” Harry catches her little feet before she can kick him in the ribs again and helps her stretch out her legs like she’s riding a bicycle and Millie calms a bit. “Bit better?” 

Millie blurps out her lips and shrieks something that sounds like _tkoe!_ , which Harry takes as a _yes, Dad, thanks, I feel much better now!_ so he picks her up again – with the rag still on his shoulder to be safe – and heads out to the sitting area. 

They’re sitting out on the couch nearest the wheel-well, where Millie likes the rushing sound of the street and the rain and the vibrating hum of the tires turning beneath them when the bus turns and the others, plus Cher, pile back inside. Louis makes a beeline for Harry and Millie and drops a kiss on both of their heads.

“Ugh, geroff,” Harry whines. “You smell like pad choop plai.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing,” Liam says, plopping down on the seat beside Harry. “I think that’s just some syllables. It’s like Millie-talk.”

“Racist,” Zayn says, without any heat behind it, and pulls Cher down into his lap.

“Fine,” Harry says, and jiggles Millie up and down a bit on his shoulder when she starts fussing again. The doors close and the wheels start turning again and she quiets, despite kicking Liam insistently in the arm for sitting close. “Did you bring me anything?”

“Why yes, I bought you a pony. And this container of prawn curry and rice, but that’s much less fun than a pony.” Louis drops down on Harry’s other side and reaches over to rub Millie’s back. “How is she tonight?”

“Still bad,” Harry reports wearily. “I’m just so tired, Louis. Fix it.”

“She’s not a clock, I can’t just fix her,” Louis says. “D’you want me to call my mum in the morning and ask her what’s causing the problem?”

“I know what it is,” Harry grumps, “It’s the stupid bottles. She’s gulping air when she’s eating and it makes her all sick. I just don’t know how to teach her to stop doing that.”

“I don’t know,” Louis says. “I think she’s got to figure it out herself. I mean everyone manages eventually, right?”

Harry sighs and rests his curly head on Louis’ shoulder. “I guess so.”

Liam switches on the television and they all settle down, lazy and full, to watch through _Grease_ for the sixth time – Louis won the coin toss. Harry keeps a steady bounce going to keep Millie calm and happy, rubbing soothing circles on her back, and he and Louis lean back at the same time to rest against the humming windows of the bus as they wind their way through Birmingham at night towards Holyhead for the morning ferry.

They’ve just passed the highway exit to Wolverhampton – Liam leaned against the window rather longingly, like a puppy; Cher joked that his tail was wagging – when Niall shifts uncomfortably from his place on the floor.

“You alright there, Nialler?” Zayn asks, reaching out to ruffle Niall’s blond hair.

“Yeah,” Niall hedges, shifting again. His eyebrows pinch together and his lips curl up. “I think so.”

Harry takes one look at Niall’s face and sighs heavily. “Oh, fuck’s sake.” He pats his knee. “Get up here, Nialler.”

“I don’t think – ”

“Just do it,” Harry commands, and Niall looks sheepish and a bit red in the face as he plonks himself down on Harry’s knee.

Still bouncing Millie on his elbow and rubbing circles on her back, Harry starts to bounce the knee Niall is sitting on and pat the same circles over the blond boy’s spine in matching rhythm.

“Harry?” Niall starts, “What – ”

He interrupts himself with a massive belch – loud enough that both Millie and Cher, down on the floor, startle and look up at him with big, round eyes.

“Better?” Harry asks dryly.

Niall seems to think for a moment. “Yeah,” he says appreciatively. “Yeah, thanks.” 

He moves to stand up, but Harry catches Niall around the waist and pulls him back to sit more firmly in his lap so Harry can speak into his ear. 

“So, Niall,” Harry says in his most cheerful Dad Voice, patting the smaller boy’s leg. “When we chew, we don’t want to swallow a lot of air with the food, do we? Because it doesn’t feel good, does it?”

Niall frowns. “But I just can’t help that I laugh all the time. Blame everyone else.”

Harry’s eyes flutter shut as Louis and Liam burst into laughter on either side of them, and Millie reaches out thoughtfully to grab hold of Niall’s nose while spitting up all over Harry’s shoulder again.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	9. Chapter 9

“That was fucking amazing!” Niall yells in Louis’ ear, bouncing up and down and half-climbing onto Louis’ back before shucking right back off again. “D’you wanna go out and celebrate? Get a pint of summat?”

Louis wrestles Niall into a headlock and scrubs his hand vigorously through Niall’s sweaty blond hair, making it stand on end. “Nah, not tonight, Nailfile; I should check on Bean and H, he was acting weird earlier and she’s been alone for hours. Or with Lou, but. Y’know.”

Niall’s face is fallen. “Yeah, sure, ‘course. I get it. I’ll just ask Zayn again then; he’s always up for a party. Unless he’s with Rebecca.”

“Soon, though, Ni, I promise,” Louis apologizes, giving Niall a squeeze. “We can hang out soon, yeah? You can show me all around Ireland.”

Niall still looks disgruntled, but nods and swipes once at Louis’ hair before turning to bounce off down the hall to find Zayn and Liam. Louis shakes his hair out and heads the other way, back to the green room to round up Harry and Millie for a shuttle back to their Dublin hotel. He gets stopped along the way for congratulatory hugs – Caroline, Cher, Aiden and Matt – but is surprised when he reaches the green room and Lou Teasdale’s nowhere in sight.

“Anno!” Millie chirrups from her playpen, waving her blanket at Louis. She blinks her huge eyes and slips her toes into her mouth.

“Millie,” Louis sings, hoisting her into his arms, “What are you doing here by yourself?”

“Auhahh!” Millie shrieks, bouncing herself wriggling around and wiping slimy fingers across Louis’ cheekbone. She grins at him and nuzzles her face down into his neck, bursting with trust and love, and Louis kisses the top of her head, murmuring _yeah, you’re not alone anymore, are you, silly little bean; I’m here now_. 

Louis kisses her head one more time. “Let’s go find your daddy, huh?”

Millie sings a long, squeaky high note and bends backward like she’s dancing a limbo, wriggling and fat and happy. Louis chuckles and tries to haul her back up properly, but Millie doesn’t make it easy, bopping all around and babbling long nonsense songs as Louis laughs and scrabbles and tries to keep hold of her.

“Harry!” Louis calls, laughing, as he pushes open the back hall door with his shoulder, “This little bean’s gone cr—”

Louis’ voice dies in his throat: Harry is leaning against the white cinderblock wall, head tilted back to expose the long, pale line of his throat and the sharp cut of his jaw; his dark eyelashes flutter as they dust his cheek and throat bobs as he swallows once before a cut-off moan hisses through his teeth while, on her knees in front of him, a girl with long, sleek black hair and gold bangles around her wrists sucks Harry off. Harry is holding her hair back into a loose ponytail and his fingers play gently through the shiny locks in a way that’s almost tender.

Louis blinks, then covers Millie’s eyes as quickly as his hands will move and backs out of the room, stuttering a blithering apology that isn’t loud enough for even Millie to hear, much less Harry or the girl. 

The hall door swings shut and Louis slumps against it, his own eyes closed as he tries to clear the fleeting image of Harry’s cock out of his mind. He straightens up quickly when he realizes that his pose is mirroring Harry’s, and he jumps away from the door so high and so abruptly that Millie yells out a raucous laugh, beating her little fists against Louis’ ear in glee.

Louis is still pacing the green room, bouncing Millie absently while she babbles in high-pitched buggy shrieks, when Harry emerges – alone – ten minutes later. His shirt is untucked and the curls framing his face are plastered to his face with sweat, but that’s common after a performance. Other than the new, liquid relaxation behind his eyes and the openness of his easy grin, Harry looks the same as he always does after a concert – but all Louis can see is the _girl_ on her knees at Harry’s feet, the grin that he’s wearing after being with a _girl_ , just… how satisfied he seems from being with a _girl_ , something Louis’ always just felt stressed and a bit false after. 

“Heya, little bean,” Harry coos, reaching out to pluck Millie out of Louis’ arms, but Louis looks at Harry’s hands and sees long, dark hair twisting through Harry’s fingers, sees Harry’s long fingers wet and clenched, and he steps backward without thinking to swoop Millie out of his grasp.

Harry’s brows furrow and he frowns, the light going out in his eyes. 

“Erm,” Louis blusters quickly, bouncing Millie again after she whimpers at the change in tension in the room, “Don’t you think you should shower? Then, you know, I can, and erm – we’ll be all set for the night. Rather than, you know. Not. Being set. And. Having to shower later at the hotel. When we could – not shower there. And sleep instead, I guess. Yeah.”

“Oh,” Harry says, still looking perturbed. “I guess, yeah. Just lemme – I’ll be less’n ten, and then you can have yours.”

Louis pastes on a smile and pats Millie’s round belly as she chatters _tohtohtohtohtoh!_ in his ear. “Yeah, sure,” he says brightly. “Sounds good, Haroldbanana.”

Harry snorts. “Harold Banana?” 

Louis feels his face color hot to the tips of his ears. “I’m just trying it out. New prefix. Suffix. Whatever.”

“Suffix, I think,” Harry chuckles, half-smirking, as he backs out of the green room and toward the showers.

Louis collapses heavily onto the squashy sofa as soon as Harry’s gone. 

“Millie,” he sighs, “That was a disaster.”

Millie pushes her face against the underside of Louis’ stubbled chin and mouths a wet, slurpy kiss to his neck. 

Louis rubs her back and lets her kick into his ribs and spleen as she tries to clamber up on him. “I know, sweetie, it’s stupid of me to care. Your dad’s never been – doesn’t matter. Don’t know what I was expecting.”

“Aya-ah?” Millie asks, chewing on three fingers. Her eyes are so round and clear and concerned that Louis has to smile and gently kiss her head.

“Yeah,” he admits, helping Millie cuddle back down comfortably against his chest. She nuzzles into him and taps her fingers against his heartbeat in her favorite way, the way she only does with Louis. “Guess I had my hopes up.” He counts her wiggling toes. “But it’s okay. Now I can figure myself out without wondering.”

Millie slowly wilts into soft half-sleep, still slurping on her fingers, resting curled up on Louis’ belly. She looks up when Harry wanders back in after his shower, curls still wet and matted down and a towel tight around his waist. 

“Am I sufficiently clean to hold my daughter now?” Harry asks Louis wryly, petting Millie’s round head. Millie smiles and drools and rubs her head back into Harry’s palm like a cat.

Louis blushes again. “Yeah, sorry, I was just – erm, sweat and all from the stage, and. Stuff.”

“Right,” Harry says, lifting Millie into his arms. “Well, you can go wash off your own sweat and stage stuff now then, and we’ll get the shuttle back to the hotel?”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “Sure.”

Louis slips off to the shower and tries – really tries – to push all of his feelings aside and just… shower. But the shower cubicle still smells like Harry, like his shampoo and the sweat of his skin and his evergreen soap, and Louis closes his eyes and lets the scent wrap around him in the steam of the hot water pounding over his shoulders. With his eyes closed and Harry’s smell all around him, it’s only too easy to see that open, wanting line of Harry’s throat again, the way his eyes fluttered shut and his hips worked thoughtlessly as he pushed his cock into that girl’s mouth. 

Louis’ hand drifts to his own cock even as he tries not to think about Harry’s. He’s never touched another boy’s dick, and he’s been trying so hard, so damn hard, so _fucking hard_ not to want Harry but he _does_ , _fuck_ , he wants to touch Harry and feel the weight of him in his hand, between his lips – Louis thumbs over the slit of his cock and his tongue licks out at his lower lip as he tries to imagine what it would be to suck at the head of Harry’s, to taste –

Louis shoots all over his chest and, before he can second-guess himself, dips two fingers through the white smear and slips them into his mouth, just to try it out, just to prolong the fantasy a moment longer, just to pretend, for a second, that maybe that’s what Harry tastes like, too, and he could _ever_ know.

The water pressure lets up as the temperature cuts to lukewarm, and Louis slumps miserably against the shower wall.

“Fuck.” 

Louis’ not stupid about sex. He’s had girlfriends, real ones, whom he really loved and cared about and had sex with – he and Bethaney’d had sex _all the time_ , in part because both of them had parents who worked long hours and because they were fifteen and stupid and that’s what horny fifteen-year-olds do (case in point: Millie’s existence). But he’d always known that something was missing from sex with girls, even Bethaney, and it wasn’t until he and Stan and Geoff and Jona were watching a porno at three in the morning and Louis realized he was more interested in the guy getting fucked than the girls doing the fucking. Boobs were cool and everything, but what Louis wanted to touch more than the bizarrely firm and immobile skin balloons adorning Ginny Tickle was the broad, flat, tan chest of her unnamed and surprisingly passive partner.

But he hadn’t said anything. Doncaster wasn’t small, but Louis’ world there was. The boys and The Rogue, Stan and holiday trips to Cleethorpes Beach, the drama crowd at Hall Cross, everyone was just… the same, from the time he moved there from Poole to the day he left for London and the X Factor House. But Louis wasn’t the same, and he was _painfully_ aware of it.

He’d never even let himself watch fully gay porn, because it seemed like… it would stamp something red across his forehead after. _Louis Tomlinson: Likes cock._ But he watched for the boys, and he might have clipped some photos of Chad Michael Murphy and Becks and Aston out of _Heat_ and kept them under his mattress. Even so, he never really pictured _them_ when he was wanking. He never really pictured anyone, just… general Guy-ness. Cut hips. Good abs. Big dick. Broad hands.

He pictured Harry tonight.

And Louis knows that means something has to change – and soon. He can’t just keep living with Harry and harboring this stupid, vain hope that maybe anything could happen between them. He’s always known Harry’s probably straight, what with the _baby_ and all, but then he’d mentioned _fingers_ and he’d thought, well, maybe, maybe both, maybe he was still growing into himself and he’d figure it out, too. 

Harry likes girls. He likes them enough to pull some random backstage and risk a story getting out rather than going, _Hey, Louis, d’you wanna suck me off? Seen you looking_. And someday, he’ll find one he likes enough to bring home with him, and she’ll stay, and Louis will have to move out. 

He’d rather not be _totally_ lost when that happens, even though it’ll mean losing Harry and Millie both. 

Louis lifts his head and lets the now-cold water spray into his face. 

He needs a boyfriend. Or at least a lay.

•••

“Nailfile,” Louis says later that night, back at the hotel after Harry’s tucked Millie into the collapsible crib and fallen into bed himself, dead to the world, “D’you wanna like, hang out tomorrow after the show?”

Niall’s eyes light up. “Really? Just us, or can Harry come?”

“Just us,” Louis clarifies quickly. “Just the two of us. Erm, but you know, I was thinking… I really want to go to um, a club? Where I can meet someone, maybe? Um, and I figured, you know, ‘Niall’s from Ireland, he’ll know a good place that’s a bit, you know, more… quiet, and not so… in-your-face, I guess’? So… do you know anywhere like that?”

Niall frowns. “You want me to find you a discreet gay club where you can meet someone?”

“Yes!” Louis nods. “But – I also want to hang out with you, so. You can be like… my wingman. You can be Joey to my Chandler, or something, right?” Louis slides his arm around Niall’s shoulders and cuddles their heads together amiably. “Niall, I’m trusting you right now. Like, a _lot_. Like, _a lot_. And I know it’s a shit thing to ask, but it would be really big for me if you could like… just help me out?”

“Lewis,” Niall sighs, and gloms onto Louis in a proper Niall hug, “O’course I’ll help you out. I don’t actually frequent discreet gay clubs meself, but I’ve got friends at uni in the city what can help us out. I’ll give my friend Brad a ring and let you know in the morning, yeah?”

Louis smiles widely and smacks a kiss to Niall’s cheek. “Thank you, my Nialler.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Niall yawns. “Now leave before I change my mind, you smell like nappies and shame.”

Louis moons Niall on his way out of the room, but Niall just yells _yeah, save it for tomorrow!_ and inexplicably, that makes Louis feel better. 

When Louis wakes the next morning, it’s to wet breath on his face and little fingers poking curiously into his nose. He blinks his eyes open and Millie greets him with a drooly, drippy, toothless grin from her perch on his chest.

“Hey, little bean,” Louis rasps, “How’d you get up here?”

“Illimmaow,” Millie explains, rolling onto her back and slipping into the crevice between Louis’ chest and arm. Louis snorts a laugh and rearranges his arms to cradle her close and safe. She just keeps smiling at him, waving her hands, and Louis leans down to kiss her nose.

“Silly little bean,” Louis murmurs. “Who mysteriously teleported onto my person in my sleep.”

“Sorry about that,” Harry yawns, edging out of their bathroom door. “She woke up and was all cuddly, but I really had to wee.”

“Understood,” Louis says, yawning back, then blowing a raspberry on Millie’s tummy. She shrieks a bubbly laugh and wiggles happily, and Harry can’t help laughing back as he slides into the bed, curling up on Millie’s other side, one arm draped over her silly legs so that his long-fingered hand rests on Louis’ waist. The boys’ knees bump beneath the sheets.

Louis looks up and Harry’s face is only inches away, wearing a gentle smile as he gazes at Millie lying between them. Harry looks up and smiles at Louis, kicks his toes against Louis’ ankle, rests his head down against Louis’ pillow. Harry’s breath is minty and it makes Louis press his own lips together, too aware of how he hasn’t brushed his teeth yet and his eyes probably have morning crispies and if Millie was playing with his nose, maybe it’s because there are bogeys, and –

And if he’s going to help Harry parent Millie, then being near Harry can’t make Louis feel like this.

Louis rolls out of the bed, then kisses Millie’s forehead. When he straightens up, Louis says, “I’m going out with Niall tonight, and um, some of his friends at uni out here. So… I won’t be around after the show. You gonna be okay with Mills?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, even as his brow furrows, “Yeah, of course. Will you give’r a kiss before you go?”

“Of course,” Louis says, and disappears into the bathroom. He tries not to hear Millie’s _uoon-ow!_ of concern and Harry’s soft mumble of, _I dunno, Bean, maybe he really is angry_.

That night after the show, Louis scrubs up particularly carefully and spends longer styling his hair than he’ll ever admit aloud, even trying to feather his fringe before giving up and just shoving his hair under a gray knit beanie. He wears a tight blue shirt with white stripes because Harry told him it looked – no, _no_ , because _Hannah_ had bought it for him once, and he checks out his own arse in the mirror four times before finally breaking down and asking, “Niall? If you liked man-arses, would my arse look good?”

“It looks like a woman’s arse,” Niall answers. “So yeah, it looks good anyway.”

They end up at a dark, disco-lit mixer for University College Dublin’s LGBT Society where Niall’s friends Brad and BridgetAndFiona have promised there’ll be enough people for a good spread but few enough that no one will recognize Niall and Louis without the other three One Directioners. Katy Perry is thumping from the speakers on replay when the shuttle van drops them off just up the block.

“Thanks for this, Ni,” Louis murmurs, and gives Niall’s hand a squeeze.

“Yeah, ‘s no problem,” Niall says. “I just like for people to be happy, and to be honest, I don’t know if you and Harry are anymore. I never see you.”

Louis frowns. “I’m sorry, it’s just – ”

Niall waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t, I understand you’re busy. Baby and all.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “That’s it. Just a baby.”

“But we could help, you know,” Niall says. “Me and Zayn and Liam. I know they’ve got to watch her before, but – I’m not useless, you know. I can, like, help. Or try, at least, after I get some practice in.”

“I know,” Louis promises. He touches Niall’s shoulder. “Niall, we know you’re not useless. It’s just… it’s new. And kind of – it’s fragile as it is.”

“Yeah,” Niall says. Then he smiles and squeezes Louis’ shoulders tight. “That’s why we’re here, ain’t it? Get things a bit more stable.”

“Right,” Louis says. “Ugh, god, I want to barf.”

“Don’t,” Niall advises. “I’m not gay, but. I have to assume that’s a turnoff on guys as much as girls.”

Louis inhales deep through his teeth, the whistle almost comforting in the cold air. “Right. So where’s your friend Brad, then?”

Niall’s friend Brad comes attached to Darragh, it turns out, and they have a sweeping group of partiers who gather Louis up into their open arms – mostly literally – and pass him drinks and the first time Louis sees Brad and Darragh kiss each other, right out in the open in front of everyone, with tongue and everything, and _no one reacts like it’s strange_ , he feels… light. Lighter than he has in months. Niall is sandwiched between Bridget and Fiona, dancing and laughing, and Louis lets loose shaking his ass to “Peacock” while Brad and Darragh and the rest of the crowd holler.

When he slips off to the side to get a breath and some more beer, a low voice murmurs in his ear, “Comedy or drama?”

“Comedy,” Louis answers, not turning around.

Heat crowds his back. “ _Rent_ or _Grease_?”

Louis smiles and bites his lip. “ _Grease_.”

“Derry or Wanderers?”

“Manchester United.”

“Ah,” sighs the voice, “So close to perfect, but. Nearly a dealbreaker.”

Louis turns over his shoulder and smiles up at the tall boy still smoldering down at him. Dark brown skin, close-shorn black hair, liquid black eyes, broad square jaw, deep dimples. He smells good, warm and like the party, but there are notes under that of spice and sandalwood, the kind of ridiculously expensive, good cologne that Louis would covertly sniff in stores he couldn’t afford until recently.

“Come on now, Michael Carrick? Nani? Wayne Rooney?” Louis asks. “Can’t really like football if you don’t respect them.”

“I don’t really like football,” the boy confides. “Other than the shorts. I’m more of an artists’ man meself. English with Film studies.” He smiles, and the dimples deepen as his face stretches into a glittering white smile that sort of takes Louis’ breath a bit. “I’m Elliot.”

“Louis,” Louis says. “I’m a bit of an artists’ man myself, too. Wanted to study drama. D’you fancy a drink?”

“Not right now, no, thanks,” Elliot says. “Maybe later. D’you fancy a go?”

Louis does lose his breath at that, and the music presses in too close, pounding at his eardrums and he sort of wants to snap _shut up, Katy, I am_ not _a firework!_ and he looks for Niall, but Louis can see quite clearly that Niall’s preoccupied by letting BridgetAndFiona snog while sitting on his lap.

“Hey,” Elliot says, and slides his hand over Louis’ wrist, “You can say no if you’re not up for it.”

“No, I – am,” Louis says. “I can’t erm, stay the night or anything, so – d’you have a room?”

“Yeah, I’m in campus housing.” Elliot grins again and lets his hand slide down to lace his fingers through Louis’. His hand is warm and steady and that helps, Louis thinks. “I live up Sligo, else.”

“I’m from Doncaster,” Louis offers. “My mate there, Niall, he’s from Mullingar and has friends here, so. Visiting.”

“But not for the night?”

“Not for the night, no,” Louis agrees, and lets Elliot pull him into a cramped dorm room, door clicking shut behind them. 

Elliot leads Louis over to the bed, holding both of his hands and looking him up and down; he sits and hitches Louis closer, big hands running hot up the backs of Louis’ thighs and indulgently over the curve of Louis’ arse.

“That’s a shame,” he murmurs. “I could think of at _least_ one night’s worth of things we could do.” He presses kisses up the length of Louis’ zipper, and Louis cups his hand over Elliot’s jaw during to feel the dent of his dimples, steadfastly ignoring any other dimpled faces that may float into his mind.

After, Elliot kisses Louis goodbye at the door and Bumps his iPhone, but they both know they’ll probably never call or even text – Louis’ almost never near Dublin, and really never near Sligo. It was a nice night, but it didn’t change the world. Louis makes his way back to Niall, who’s by this point slumped over on a table half-asleep, and gingerly sits down.

“We can go now,” he whispers in Niall’s ear. “Need some help up?”

“Nah, nah,” Niall grumbles, batting at the air. “I’m solid as a rock.”

All the same, Louis slings Niall’s limp arm around his shoulders and helps pull Niall to standing, and they shuffle off to the shuttle van.

“Do you know, _Lewis_ ,” Niall slurs, “That not a one person made a pass at me all night? Not a one.”

“Well, Nailfile, all the girls liked girls, and you’re clearly a boy who doesn’t like boys,” Louis sighs. “It’s not really your loss.”

“No, but – it woulda been nice,” Niall says wistfully. “Just to know that I’m that attractive.”

“You’ve got snaggleteeth,” Louis snaps, on edge and unfair now that they’re back on their way to the hotel, back to Harry and Real Life. 

“Rude,” Niall grumbles. “You’ve got snaggleteeth on the bottom.”

“That’s different,” Louis dismisses. He pulls his knees up to his chest and sucks in a breath at the burn in his bum and behind his thighs. “The rest of my face is perfection, so a few wonky teeth just give me character.”

“You’re an arsehole,” Niall grumbles, and kicks Louis’ hip.

“As it turns out,” Louis mutters, “I am.”

Niall pauses before his feet launch another assault, then he groans and flails, falling to the shuttle floor. “I didn’t want to know that! Why would you put that image in me head? That’s so gross!”

“It’s not gross,” Louis says uncomfortably, “It’s no more gross than BridgetAndFiona feeling each other up and you watched that all night.”

“No, it’s not – not _gay sex_ that’s gross to me, it’s _your bumhole_ that’s gross to me,” Niall groans. He buries his head in his arms on the floor. “Ugh, I can’t believe I just had to say ‘your bumhole’ in casual conversation; jesus christ, Lou, you’re the _worst_ friend I’ve got.”

“Well, I’m terribly sorry if me wanting a normal sex life is a problem in your schedule,” Louis says, not quite amused but without real heat behind it.

“Ah, I shoulda figured as much, seeing as Harry’s having had a sex life put a cramp in all our schedules, yours most of all.”

Louis frowns. “Millie’s not – she’s not a bother to me.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Niall says a little too quickly. “Just, you know, she makes things…”

“Fragile,” Louis offers.

“Yeah,” Niall says. “Fragile. Like you and Harry.”

“There is no ‘me and Harry,’” Louis says. He pastes on a smile and ruffles Niall’s hair. “You’ve been reading fan-flicks again, Nailfile.”

“That was one time!” Niall cries, “And I couldn’t look at Zayn for a _week_.”

Louis has to laugh at that, and he hauls Niall back up onto the seat and they curl together, resting against each other as they trundle back to the hotel. Inside, Louis slips his shoes off and creeps up the hall and through the door of the hotel suite, wincing at the _beep_ of the electronic lock. 

“Lou?”

Louis closes his eyes and sighs. Harry is sitting up in his bed, Millie cradled in his arm and telly on low, showing a movie, as he feeds Millie a bottle. Her mooneyes shine up at Louis in the dark, reflecting the light of the screen.

“Yeah, H, it’s just me. You can finish up and sleep, I’m just gonna shower.”

“You okay?” Harry asks, sounding concerned. “You’re like… limping.”

“I’m – fine,” Louis says, then bites his lips. “And erm, it turns out… it is nice. Full-on.”

“What – oh!” Harry’s face heats even as his stomach feels cold. “Well – good? I’m, I’m glad, basically. Yeah. That’s… good, for you. Right? Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, trying so hard to sound enthusiastic that he’s a little worried he might rupture an artery. “Really good. ‘Cause now, like, y’know, I really know. Definitely positive.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry enthuses back, giving Millie’s arm a comforting rub. “Erm, was it – so do you like, was it, you know, one and done, or – are you like…”

Attached to someone else.

“No, erm, he’s a friend of Niall’s friends, and he, well he’s from Sligo and that’s a bit far, so. Nice guy, though. Cute dimples.”

 _Shit_. 

Harry licks his lower lip. “Yeah, cool. Um. I think little bean’s nearly sleeping on the job, so…”

“Right! Shower,” Louis says, startling, and scampers off to the bathroom. When he finishes and has dried his hair, the bedroom is dark and Louis tiptoes into his own cold bed, the starched sheets sliding against his sore skin. He doesn’t notice the glint off Harry’s staring eyes caught in the light of the window.

•••

After that, things are strange between Harry and Louis – they’re both awkward in Dublin, but Harry pulls a girl in Belfast and disappears into the green room with her after the show. When she leaves, her eyes are rimmed in red and so are her lips, wet caught in her eyelashes but a smirk on her face, and Harry moves like he has no bones for nearly an hour. In Sheffield, Louis sucks off Gemma’s friend Gary, and when he comes back to the hotel with his own red-limned eyes and scratchy-throated smile, Harry and Millie aren’t in their shared room.

He finds them playing with Zayn in _his_ room, Millie finally showing off how she can roll from her back to her front.

“Good job, sweetie bean,” Louis coos, but his voice sounds like sandpaper and the compliment hangs empty in the air, awkward and tense, until Millie blows a happy spit-bubble and reaches out to fist her hand in Louis’ shirt collar.

Harry doesn’t say anything to Louis about it. They don’t really say much of anything in private, because they have worked out so seamless a system in caring for Millie that they don’t need words to make sure she’s alright.

But Harry thinks… they do need words to make sure that he and _Louis_ are alright, and words for that are failing him. He doesn’t want to begrudge Louis for finally getting to do what he’s spent the last five years of his life doing, just hooking up and coming home late and learning about himself, what he likes, _who_ he likes. And he doesn’t begrudge him that, he doesn’t.

He doesn’t.

It’s just he’d got used to Louis being _his_ , being home every night and cuddling him when he needed it and being there for every moment of Millie. But maybe that wasn’t fair. So Harry tries not to bother Louis so much, not to ask for his help. Instead of having Louis play with Millie while he showers, then bathing her in the hotel sinks, he just sets her in her bumble seat on the shower floor and keeps the water lukewarm to tackle both at once. He changes more nappies, feeds her more bottles. And if Millie seems sadder, and cranes her little neck to peer around, searching for someone, more often – well, Louis’ life has to be Louis’ choice, Harry reasons.

From the 3rd on, they’ll have nearly a week in London to spend at their own flat. It’ll be good to get Millie sleeping in her real crib again, and Harry’s back has been crying for a night in his own bed. On Thursday, the band sings at the Pokémon Black & White premiere with JLS, and Harry and Louis don’t stand beside each other.

It’s not that they aren’t fine.

They’re just not okay.

After the premiere, which is about as boring as nearly-grown men would find a showcase on Pokémon, the boys all head back to their flat. Harry thanks Lou Teasdale for coming to watch Millie, and both Harry and Louis let her cajole them into patting her own growing belly, which apparently quite perplexed Millie, whom Lou says was ‘in a weird mood.’ And then they’re alone, Millie already down in her crib for the next few hours, nearly the whole night now.

“So,” Harry says.

“So,” repeats Louis.

“I think I’m gonna tidy the kitchen and then maybe sleep,” Harry says, his chest panging as he wants to say _can we hang out and talk about this, talk about us and you and Millie and you and me and how much me and Millie need you, ‘cause I feel like you don’t know?_

“Alright,” Louis says, and nods. “I’m just gonna veg out I think. Watch telly, unless you’d rather I not.”

“No, go ahead,” Harry says. He scrubs his hand through his hair, hangs his blazer on the back of a chair, and pads off into the cavernous, too-empty apartment.

Louis folds himself onto the soft sofa – it’s already stained in places from Millie’s spitup and either Harry or Louis spilling cereal or tea on the cushions; it’s already a sofa that looks like it lives in a _home_ \-- and turns on the telly, clicking absently through the Sky channels. He wants to call, _Hey, H, make us some tea and come watch a movie with me!_ or _H, you want me to make you a cuppa and maybe we could talk? I feel like I haven’t seen you and I’m not sure if it’s ‘cause you don’t want to see me. I feel like you don’t need me anymore._

Louis’ still lost in thought when the back bedroom door creaks open, louder than Louis would have expected this late at night.

“Louis?” Harry asks, and Louis sits up right away because Harry’s voice _never_ wobbles, not like that. “Something’s wrong with Millie.”

Louis’ on his feet and halfway across the room before Harry’s done speaking. “What’s wrong with her? I haven’t heard a peep all night.”

“I know, I thought it was sorta weird how quiet she was? So I went to check on her and she’s really, really hot. And she’s just lying there, too, she didn’t look at me or anything.” Harry pauses. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

Louis reaches down into the bassinet and touches Millie’s forehead with the back of his hand.

She is hot. Really, really hot, and not sweating, which he thinks must be even worse in a baby than a grown person when they’re ill. He swallows and looks back up at Harry, who’s hovering next to him with worried eyes, chewing on a thumbnail.

“Harry,” Louis says, trying to keep his voice light and calm, “Go to the kitchen and fill up a bottle with lukewarm water. And take one of the ice packs out of the freezer and wrap it in one of her blankets from the hall. I’m gonna call the hospital and let them know we’re coming, okay?”

Harry’s eyes widen. “Do you think she’s that bad?”

“I think you and I aren’t doctors,” Louis says firmly. “And I’d rather just let them know ahead we’re coming so she doesn’t have to sit in the waiting room with all those germs for too long since she’s so young, right?” He pats Harry’s back, low by the curve to his hip. “It’ll be alright. Go and get the water and the ice and your wallet and everything, and I’ll get Millie ready and jump in the car, okay?”

Harry hesitates. He bites his lips and the edges flash white. “I’m really scared, Louis.”

“It’ll be okay,” Louis soothes, even though his stomach is tight and he’s almost moved to prayer that he’s not lying. “Go.”

Harry rushes off and once Louis hears the freezer door opening and the sound of rummaging, he reaches into the bassinet and picks Millie up.

“Hey, Millie,” he murmurs, “You’re not feeling too well, are you? No, you’re not. Let’s get you out of those heavy jammies and we’ll go see the doctors, okay?”

Millie opens her eyes and stares glassily back at him, still not protesting even as he eases her fat arms and legs out of the roasting-hot onesie she’d worn all day. Usually getting Millie dressed is a nightmare; she likes to wriggle her arms and kick her legs and grab onto anything dangling in her reach, like necklaces or scarves or glasses or hair. Louis swallows hard around the pulsing lump in his throat as he wraps her loosely in her thinnest summer sheet and holds her against his chest so she can rest her head against the join of his neck. She usually nuzzles a while to get settled when he carries her like this – sort of like a very small puppy kneading a chair before dozing – but tonight she just rests her cheek down against his shoulder and stays there, silent and too, too warm.

Louis pulls his phone from his pocket and dials 999. When he’s got through to the hospital and they ask what the baby’s temperature is, he checks out in the hall to make sure that Harry’s still occupied in the kitchen before he answers. “At least 40°, and she isn’t sweating.”

They tell him they’ll be waiting, and he pauses. “The baby is Millie Styles.”

There’s a slight silence on the other end of the line, although he can hear general hospital sounds in the background – someone’s clicking a pen right near the receiver and it makes him grit his teeth. “From the papers?”

“Yeah,” Louis says shortly. “Just – so you know. But we’d appreciate privacy.”

“Of course,” says the voice on the other end, sounding smooth and unruffled again with a faint Nigerian accent that Louis finds oddly comforting at this moment. “Come in the side ambulance entrance, it bypasses the waiting room. Just let me know at the desk when you arrive and we’ll try to arrange a private room.”

“Thank you,” Louis says, the lump in his throat easing a little. Harry appears in the door with the ice pack wrapped in pink flannel and the bottle full of water and ice cubes, so Louis hangs up his phone. “Alright,” he says. “You take Millie, and hold that ice pack against her back, okay, through all the blankets, just to try to help her feel a bit cool. Just forget the safety seat and hold her; we’re close and you’re gonna need to try to feed her the water.”

Harry nods quickly and holds out his arms so Louis can arrange Millie in the crook of his elbow. Harry’s biting his lips white again and his brow furrows tight between his eyes when she adjusts without a sound.

“She’s gonna be okay, right?”

Louis tries to smile. “Of course. Come on, they’re waiting at the hospital.”

Millie doesn’t even protest when Harry holds the ice pack against her back, but she makes her first fussy squeak of the night when he urges her to take the bottle. Louis reaches over and smooths one hand through Harry’s matted curls in what he hopes is a comforting manner when he hears Harry make the same nervous, frustrated sound right back, low in his throat.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Louis murmurs to no one as he turns into the hospital car park. 

There’s a photographer waiting for them outside the doors and Louis could just kick himself for mentioning that Harry and Millie would be there. A few fan tweets from drunk, bleeding teenagers in the waiting room would have reached fewer people than a big photo in the Daily Fail, captioned some damning thing about Harry’s parenting.

“Did you shake her?” Snap snap snap. “Is she getting in the way of your heartthrob status?”

Louis puts an arm around Harry’s shoulders and hustles through the door. It’s just about closed when they hear a few more snaps and a, “You should move to America, they’re big on fuckup teen pregnancy there.” (Snap, snap.) “And I hear they allow buttfucker marriage, too.”

Louis frowns and squeezes Harry’s shoulders a bit tighter. “Just ignore it. We’ve got to go to the desk and tell them we’re here.”

Harry just nods. He kisses Millie’s forehead and rests his lips there just long enough to gauge how high her fever is, and the lump is back in Louis’ throat when Harry just swallows. 

The next few minutes are a blur as Louis checks them in and the nurses pluck Millie out of Harry’s arms while Louis tries to measure every face for a hint of who told the paparazzo they’d be here, some guilt, some resentment, some disapproval, even a starstruck look. Anything. Harry’s a complete mess as soon as they’re taking Millie and he can’t stop asking, “She’s going to be okay, right? She’ll be fine?” and Louis finally has to grab hold of his wrists to stop him from trying to take Millie back so they can get her into the A&E. Another nurse, not the one with the Nigerian accent, hands Louis a clipboard.

“Alright, Hazz,” Louis sighs, “Nothing you can do right now except fill out these forms. C’mon.”

Harry shakes his head and wraps his arms around his middle. “No – I – you gotta do it; please, Lou, I – I’ve just gotta – I can’t – ” And then he’s gone, stumbling off down the hall somewhere.

Louis sighs and rubs a hand over his face. His phone chirps in his pocket.

_saw u leavn frm window . were u off2 wit millie so late ?_

_M is really poorly.… taken her to hospital_ , he writes back to Zayn, and copies Liam and Niall on it, too, since Liam will be angry if he finds out from the papers and Niall will be upset if he finds out secondhand from Zayn.

Immediately his phone beeps back. _comin x_

Louis sort of collapses then with his elbows on his knees, like now that the boys are on their way, he can stop being the sensible one for just five minutes and take a breath.

He’s always hated hospitals. Although, he supposes, there probably isn’t anyone who loves them.

Someone appears at his side with a Styrofoam cup of tea and Louis knows -- _knows_ \-- that it’s just because he’s that boy from the X-Factor and he came in with Harry and Millie Styles, because sure as hell no one else in this waiting room was given a cup of hot tea. His mother would probably glare her worst if someone even asked for a cuppa during her shift in the A &E.

He takes the tea anyway, and doesn’t look up. Whoever here knows who he is, it’s probably whoever called that paparazzo outside. Fuck ‘em.

Five minutes pass achingly slowly in a muted clatter of seats scraping and phones ringing and bits of bursts of conversation every time the doors swing open and he doesn’t hear anyone mention Millie and he doesn’t hear Harry come back. He sips his tea, inhales through his nose, and blows a long, shaky, cold breath out through his lips, then takes up his pen to start filling out Millie’s intake form.

 _Relationship to Individual_.

Louis stares down at it for a long moment and taps the pen against the paper. _Fuck_.

He’s still staring at the blank line when Liam, Zayn, and Niall pile into the waiting room. Zayn looks a bit murderous, Niall is skittering between Liam and Zayn and clipping at their elbows like he’s lost, and Liam, dependable Liam, scouts out the room and rushes to Louis’ side with his typical staid efficiency.

“What’s happened to Millie?” he asks. “Where’s Harry?”

“Is she okay?” asks Niall.

“Who called the pap outside? Why’s he saying Harry hurt her?” Zayn asks, brows drawn low over his dark eyes.

“She’s not hurt,” Louis says, quickly and softly. He pulls a bit of Styrofoam off the lip of his tea cup. “She’s just got a really high fever and we’re not sure why, so we brought her in. She wasn’t being – you know, herself. Wasn’t really responsive.”

“Was she awake?” Liam asks. His hand drifts absently down to his side, floating over the kidney that doesn’t work.

“Yeah, she was,” Louis says, “Just… really quiet and still. I mean, she was opening her eyes and everything and she fussed once in the car.”

“That’s good,” Liam says encouragingly. “Where is Harry?”

“I don’t know,” Louis sighs. “He disappeared as soon as they took Millie. I should find him. He’s gotta fill out her forms.”

“Do you want us to look for Hazz or do you want us to wait here for the doctors?” Zayn asks, laying his hand on Louis’ shoulder and patting twice. “What d’you think would be best for Millie?”

“I don’t know!” Louis tears more of the lip from his teacup and tea pours out all over his hands. “ _Fuck_.”

“It’s okay,” Niall says, grabbing Louis’ wrists. “It’s fine. Look, I’ll clean this up and you go find Harry; Liam’s used to hospitals so he’ll wait here for the nurses, okay?”

Louis rubs his eyes and thumbs hard at his throbbing temple. “Okay. Yeah, yeah, okay.”

Niall wraps his arms around Louis and nuzzles the side of his head against Louis’ shoulder. “It’ll be alright.”

Louis chucks his chin affectionately against Niall’s cheek and gives him a little squeeze back. “I’m gonna go find Harry.”

The first place he checks is the corners of the hallway – they seem to be where Harry hides when he’s overwhelmed, after all – but when he’s not there, or the waiting room, or sitting out in the car (although that seemed less likely, as the lads would have seen him and he’d have had to cross paths with the pap again), the only place left is the bathroom.

Sure enough, when Louis shoulders the door open, unwilling to touch the handles, Harry is kneeling on the floor with his head on his forearms, in between bouts of throwing up in the last stall.

“Harry,” Louis wheedles softly, kneeling down behind him. He caresses his hand softly over the bent line of Harry’s spine. “It’s alright.”

“Did they say something?” Harry croaks, looking back at Louis. He’s white and clammy-looking and Louis takes some toilet paper to mop up the wet from Harry’s eyes and nose. “Is Millie okay?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says. “No one’s come out yet. The boys are here; Liam’s waiting for the nurses with Millie’s forms. You’ve got to fill them out, though.”

“I thought you were,” Harry mumbles, putting his head back down on his arms. Louis feels him shiver where his hand is rested against Harry’s side, and he smooths a few soothing circles over the side of Harry’s belly. 

“I can’t,” Louis whispers softly. “I don’t know what to put as my relationship to Millie. So I’d just as soon wait for you to do it, since you’re her father.”

Harry doesn’t say anything, and that’s okay. Now isn’t the moment to talk about this, about what Louis is to Millie – what Louis is to Millie determines what Louis is to Harry, and now… it just isn’t the time. It’s all too fresh and Millie’s too small and fragile, and really, trembling under Louis’ hand on the cold linoleum, he thinks Harry is, too.

“What if it was too late that I noticed?” Harry murmurs. He still doesn’t pick up his head. “What if she’s really hurt now or really – really ill? What if it’s like Liam and she was just – was born too early and now something’s gone really wrong in her?”

“It’s just a fever, Hazza,” Louis says, and rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder blade. “Babies get fevers all the time.”

“But they’re not all okay after,” Harry says, and Louis just has time to feel Harry’s stomach tighten up under his fingers before Harry throws up again and Louis hands him another handful of toilet paper. “What if I – what if she’s _really_ ill? What if I end up with like, a Helen Keller baby?”

“You aren’t going to have a Helen Keller baby,” Louis snorts, rubbing his fingers through Harry’s hair. “You did everything just right, Hazz. Really.”

“But I might,” Harry mutters. His eyes are manic and the pupils are even bigger than usual, which is startling. Louis thinks it may be a good thing that they’re already in a hospital, honestly.

“Then we’ll hire Annie Sullivan and install a water pump or whatever and we’ll learn to live with it and Millie will go on to a heartwarming tale starring that the little sister of that kid from _The Social Network_ and Dido will write songs about her or something like that; I don’t remember. Harry,” Louis says seriously, crouching down to rub Harry’s shoulders hard. “It’s gonna be okay. Babies get sick all the time. I mean, look at Liam, okay? He was a lot sicker as a baby than Millie is tonight, and he’s _fine_. He could whoop both our arses anytime he wanted. Okay? Look, as soon as Millie gets out of here we’ll sign her up at a dojo and train her to kick Liam’s arse, if you want.”

“You stopped making sense three minutes ago,” Harry mutters dryly. He winds his arms around Louis’ waist.

“I know,” Louis said. “But it got you to stop throwing up.”

“I’d already stopped. I was just hyperventilating.”

“Well, it got you to turn into a normal person again, okay. I count that as a win for me. Score, Tomlinson ten, Styles… a hundred.”

“Why do I get a hundred?” 

Louis kisses the top of Harry’s head. “Because you’re a good dad. And that gets a hundred.”

They take a minute just to breathe. Harry nestles his head onto Louis’ shoulder and Louis rubs circles over Harry’s back. He kisses the top of Harry’s damp head and whispers, “Come on, Hazzhead. We gotta go wait for Millie, ‘cause she’ll get scared if you’re not there.”

Harry takes a long, deep, shuddering breath and nods. 

“Come on,” Louis urges softly, helping Harry to stand. 

Harry sways on his feet and Louis grips him around the waist, but Harry just shakes his head. “Knees fell asleep; ‘m alright.”

“Okay,” Louis says. “Let’s go see what’s up, alright? And if there’s nothing yet, then we’ll wait with the boys until there is.”

Harry nods and clings a little closer to Louis as they walk down the hall. He smells terrible and his skin is clammy, but Louis just rubs his back in continuous circles. When they reach the still, sterile steel of the waiting room, Liam and Niall are sitting in hardback green chairs while Zayn is leaning far over the counter, half-grin on his face, flirting with the heavyset, sleek-ponytailed redheaded nurse.

Niall gives Harry’s curls a ruffle. “You doing okay, pops?”

Harry shrugs. “Is there any word on Millie?”

“No,” Liam says. “There’s nothing yet. Someone came in with a really broken leg a bit ago so there was a rush over that. No one’s come out yet for Millie.” He holds up the clipboard. “You should finish her papers. Maybe they can’t do anything until they’re done.”

Harry nods, and Louis is glad that they all generally listen to Liam. “Alright.”

Louis’ heart twists a bit at how easily Harry has it to write down his relationship to Millie. What he’s got with her is something permanent and true and understandable and the only person Louis’ got that with is his mum. Even his sisters still have Mark, but Louis – he wasn’t Louis’ father. And Louis isn’t Millie’s dad. He knows Mark loves him as much as his sisters, and Louis _knows_ , he knows, that he loves Millie as if she were his own.

But Mark still left.

And one day, maybe soon, maybe later, Harry will find someone he wants to be with and he’ll take Millie and they’ll raise her together as though she’s Millie’s mum. And Louis will be left again.

Zayn’s redheaded nurse calls from the counter. “Styles?”

Harry’s head snaps up, pulling Louis from his absent thoughts. “Is Millie okay?”

“Come on back,” the nurse says, waving her hand.

Harry stands and reaches blindly and instinctively down for Louis’ hand. 

“I don’t think I can, Harry,” Louis mutters. “I’m not family.”

“Well, fuck that, you are family and you’re coming, I don’t care what I have to say,” Harry murmurs back. “I can’t – I’m not – ”

“Okay,” Louis assures him quickly, standing. He lets Harry squeeze his fingers too tightly. “I’m coming.”

They’re let past the door and led past closed curtains all along the ward. Harry keeps squeezing Louis’ hand. In the last cubicle, a nurse clad in jade green is tickling Millie beneath her wrinkled chin. Millie’s wispy hair is damp and she doesn’t smile or laugh, but her wide eyes are alert again and she follows the nurse’s silly monkey face as she tries to entertain the baby.

“Millie!” Harry breathes, dropping Louis’ hand as he rushes into the cubicle; he kneels in front of Millie in her plastic seat and drops kisses all over her face. _That_ makes Millie smile and she pulls at Harry’s curls – it’s a more listless, gentle yank than he’s used to, but it makes him smile and get teary-eyed all the same. “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay…”

“She just has an ear infection,” the nurse informs them. “Her fever was fairly high and she got a bit dehydrated, but that’s all sorted out now. She’s a very sweet little girl.” She tickles Millie’s chin again. “Aren’t you?” The nurse turns to Louis and asks, “Are you her guardian?”

Louis blinks. “No – ”

“He’s my guarantor,” Harry interrupts him, “But I’m her father.”

The nurse in jade green may well be the only person in the UK who neither watched X Factor nor read the Daily Mail or Sun, but she covers her surprise well with just a blink and a ruffle of her fringe. “You’ll need to get her prescription from the chemist in the morning. She’ll need drops in her ears twice a day for the next ten days, and odds are that she won’t make it easy for you at all so you’ll want to make sure that they really do make it into her ear canals and don’t drip into her nasal passages – you’ll do best keeping her on her back, since she can’t well tilt her head for you. We’ve also given her some baby aspirin for the fever, but hopefully that can be avoided and she won’t need another dose. How do you bathe her?”

Harry frowns. “In the tub usually, but lately I’ve put her in her bumble seat on the shower floor, as we’re on t – traveling, basically, and don’t always have bathtubs.”

“Try to avoid that, as well, if you can,” the nurse says. “She likely got the infection from holding water in her ears. If you don’t have a bathtub, you can just fill the sink or a plastic basin with warm water and give her a little bath in that. Otherwise, some children just have chronic ear infections in early childhood, and that can be repaired when she’s a bit older with minor surgery to get some drainage tubes in her inner ears to help her regulate.”

Harry looks a little green and a lot guilty, so Louis slides his arm around Harry’s shoulders and nods. “Sure, yeah, we should have thought to get a plastic tub for her. And you said her scrip is at the front desk?”

The nurse smiles and caresses Millie’s head once, smoothing back her wild candyfloss curls. Millie gurgles appreciatively and Harry sniffles. “Yes, sir. Once you’ve finished with the paperwork, this little dear is cleared to go home and get a good night’s sleep.”

“Thank you,” Louis says gratefully as Harry croaks the same, and Louis quietly tells Harry that he’ll go settle the papers at the front and pick up her medicine if Harry wants to carry Millie. Harry’s face creases as he looks wracked with even deeper guilt and mutters that he should file her papers and get her medicine; Louis could carry her if he wanted. 

Harry disappears beyond the cubicle’s door and Louis approaches little Millie with his best smile before gently kissing her head, letting his lips rest to gauge her temperature. Millie gurgles again and lackadaisically pats Louis’ neck with one warm, clammy hand. 

“I’m glad to see you feeling better, little bean,” Louis murmurs, unbuckling her restraint in the A&E’s plastic seat. “You gave me a good fright, you know.”

“You’re her father’s… guarantor?” the nurse clarifies, one eyebrow raised at Louis.

He cuddles Millie up close to his chest and she rests her head down against his shoulder, smudging her face twice before beginning to gum at the line of his collarbone and spider her fingers up and down over his sternum. 

“Yeah,” Louis says simply, and shrugs. He rubs slow, soothing circles over Millie’s back and measures her breathing, quick but steady and deep, her heartbeat steady and reassuring as it thrums through her tiny body. “We share a flat and he’s not eighteen, so he needed a guarantor.”

The nurse nods, but Louis can see the question in her eyes even before she asks – “If you don’t mind, why are you here instead of Millie’s mum?”

Louis swallows and just keeps rubbing Millie’s back. “She doesn’t have one.”

“So you’re not just her father’s guarantor, then, are you; you’re… more like her second dad?”

Louis shrugs, at a loss. “I am what I am. I help out however they need. And I think that what Millie needs now is to go home and sleep, like you said, so… I’m going to go.” He clears his throat. “Thank you for your help.”

The nurse nods as Louis gathers the blanket higher over Millie’s shoulders and carries her out towards the lobby. This time, they’ll just exit through the front goddamn door, since it leads to the same car park and the fucking scum paparazzo will be waiting either way. Niall, Zayn, and Liam all jump up from where they’re leaning against the nurse’s station while Harry nods intently, looking over the small dropper-stop bottle while Zayn’s Redheaded Nurse explains dosing for eardrops. 

“How is she?” asks Niall, while Zayn taps at Millie’s palm playfully until she clasps onto his index finger. 

“Is she going to need tubes in her ears?” Liam asks. “I had those once. I sneezed them out, actually; it was a disastrophe.”

“She’s okay,” Louis says, and gently bounces Millie once. “She just got some water in her ears and it never came out, did it?” He kisses Millie’s head again and she pats his neck, fingers petting into the dip where his collarbone joins.

Harry looks downtrodden when he turns and nods to Louis that they can leave, and keeps frowning miserably as they head through the car park and all the way back to their flat. When they get home, the other three boys bid them adieu at their apartment’s front door and Louis carries sleeping Millie inside. They rest her down in her crib on her back and watch for a while as she squirms in her sleep, leg kicking like a rodeo showgirl and mouth sucking at an invisible bottle.

When Louis looks over at Harry, it’s to see him crying.

“Harry,” Louis breathes, and folds his arms around Harry’s shoulders, gathering him in a tight hug, “She’s _okay_.”

“It’s my fault she got sick,” Harry whispers. “I’ve been putting her in the shower and it got her sick.”

“You didn’t know,” Louis says, “And you heard her, she might just have bad ears for a bit as a kid.”

“I don’t want for her to need _surgery_ ,” Harry almost whimpers, “Just because I made her so sick.”

Louis rubs his fingers through Harry’s curls, scratching at his scalp to make goosebumps raise on Harry’s neck. “You didn’t, and she doesn’t, and everyone is okay.”

Louis’ neck is wet. “He – that pap, he – asked if I _shook_ her. People think I – people think I hurt her, that I’d ever hurt her, people think I’m – I’m _not_ , I would _never_ , I’m not like my – I mean, I’ve been – I would never, never ever; I would never, never, never – ”

“ _I know, Harry_ ,” Louis whispers fiercely, “ _Anyone_ who knows you knows that you would never hurt Millie.”

“I’d rather die,” Harry croaks, and clinches onto Louis painfully tight.

Louis keeps scratching Harry’s head and sways a little as he holds Harry up. “I know. He was just trying to get a scoop, H. No one is stupid enough to believe that. You _worship_ Millie, and that’s obvious to anyone with eyes.”

“I do!” Harry agrees, smudging his own face along Louis’ shoulder just like his daughter does. “She’s the _best_ thing that’s _ever_ happened to me. Or to anyone! Ever!”

Louis laughs softly. “Yeah, screw Jesus and Buddha and Robin Hood and whoever; Millie’s the best thing ever.”

Harry harrumphs, but burrows a little closer to Louis, and they stay there a while longer at Millie’s cribside.

•••

>   
> **Forever Too Young: Harry Styles love child in hospital hours after One Direction performs for Pokémon launch**  
>  _Doesn’t seem to have a care in the world while child in ‘critical care’_  
>  All babies experience some sniffles and sneezes, but the infant daughter of controversial teen heartthrob Harry Styles, 17, was rushed to the A &E last night for what an unnamed hospital source called ‘an urgent illness situation.’ Only hours before, Styles and his One Direction bandmates, Louis Tomlinson, 19 (pictured below with Styles and the baby outside the A&E), Liam Payne, 17, Niall Horan, 17, and Zayn Malik, 18, performed for the launch of Pokemon Black & White in London’s West End.
> 
>               **More…  
> **              • One Direction’s Harry Styles spotted with a mystery infant: does the cheeky X Factor heartthrob have a love child?  
>               • Million dollar baby: Harry Styles and child offered campaigns for Heinz, BOBA  
>  Photos show Styles carrying the baby into the hospital (ABOVE: Tomlinson L, Styles with baby R) but apparently the young strop didn’t stick around.
> 
> ‘Harry wasn’t even in the waiting room for most of the night,’ revealed our source. ‘The other One Direction lads filled out baby Millie’s paperwork and stayed for updates, but Harry didn’t turn up until nearly an hour later.’
> 
> Baby Millie, 5 months, was discharged a few hours later, shown carried by Tomlinson BELOW. Perhaps the pressures of fatherhood can’t be balanced with the excitement of pop life after all?
> 
> One Direction was formed during the bootcamp phase of the X-Factor’s last series by Simon Cowell and show producers from rejected solo auditionees. The group placed third in December and has recently been signed to Syco Entertainment, Simon Cowell’s multimedia production conglomerate. 

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	10. Chapter 10

“Millie, do you know how old you are?” Harry coos, spooning some Apricot & Apple Rice Pudding off Millie’s chin and easing it back into her mouth. “You’re _six months old_ today!”

“Bllallum!” Millie sings, blurping the pudding out of her lips again. She grins and the emergents of two white, square teeth peek out from her lower gums like a pink jack-o’-lantern. 

“That’s right!” Harry enthuses, “Half-birthday. Open up now.”

Millie stretches her mouth and eyes open wide; her tongue lolls out, filmy with the remnants of pudding. Harry chuckles and spoons more into her mouth, and Millie smiles gratefully at him through pursed lips, bits of rice oozing out of her lips.

“Good girl,” Harry praises, caressing her head, and Millie preens. Her hair’s coming in thick and curly now, and she looks like a miniature Harry in yellow ducky pajamas.

“She looks like a miniature you,” Louis comments, and yawns, as he staggers into the kitchen. Beyond them, the front door bangs shut as Louis’ conquest disappears. Harry and Louis avoid each other’s eyes, and Louis bends into the refrigerator, searching for anything to eat.

“I made eggs,” Harry says quietly. “Yours are still on the stove. I made – there’s an extra, ‘cause I thought your… guy might want one.”

“Oh, no,” Louis says. “He had to – thing. But thanks.”

“Yup,” Harry mumbles. Louis slides the egg onto his plate with a rasher of bacon, pours a cup of tea, and sits down beside Harry. Harry doesn’t look at him, but Millie’s green eyes light up and she waves all of her limbs joyfully, reaching out for Louis and dribbling food down her front as she warbles _mellaowmomo!_

“Hi, sweetie bean,” Louis greets her, shaking her foot as if it were a hand. Millie screeches with ticklish laughter and wiggles her toes in his palm. “What are you doing today?”

Harry’s brow creases. “Don’t you remember? We’ve got the tabloid thing in two hours, with Hannah? She’s coming a bit before so we can all leave together.”

“Oh, right,” Louis says, wincing. “I feel so bad for her about that. I think she likes this guy Cole up at school, but she’s stuck with me. Don’t think she considered that when she offered.”

“I bet she did,” Harry says. “Hannah’s smart, so she probably thought it through. Girls are like that, smart.” He chucks Millie’s chin and she coos. “Aren’t you, little girl? You’re smart.”

“Bopo,” Millie agrees, and snatches at Harry’s wrist so she can chew on his thumb.

“Ow!” Harry says, laughing, “You’ve got teeth now, Mills! That hurts!”

“Namil,” Millie disagrees blithely, and digs her sharp baby teeth into his thumb.

“Did she say ‘no’?” Louis asks, aghast. “Is she _talking_?”

“Not quite yet,” Harry explains, “But probably by like, the autumn? Definitely before her birthday, she should know seven words. I’m trying to figure out how to get ‘dad’ to be first.”

“Maybe it will be ‘Louis,’” Louis jokes, and even as Millie shrieks and bends in a sudden Martha Graham dance, reaching out desperately for Lou, he can tell the joke falls a bit flat. Millie loves him, he knows, and Harry’s grateful to him, but he isn’t Millie’s dad and it would break Harry’s heart if Millie could say ‘Louis’ before ‘Harry’ or ‘Dad.’

Harry just smiles. “Maybe. My first word was ‘cat.’”

“Mine, too! And then ‘biscuit.’” Louis tickles Millie’s belly and gets a smearing of pudding on his hand for the trouble. “What’re you gonna say, little bean?”

“Beee!”

“You can’t say your _own_ name first, goofball,” Harry and Louis say at once. They glance at each other out of the corners of their eyes, and Louis feels his ears heat in a blush as he quickly turns back to his eggs. He goes out more than Harry, of course, and he sleeps with a lot more people now – especially since the tour has ended, Louis doesn’t think Harry’s been with anyone at all – but every morning, there’s Harry shirtless in the kitchen, curls dripping water on his shoulders, still willing to smile at Louis and make him eggs on toast and share Millie with him.

Millie doesn’t seem to notice anything’s gone a bit awry between her dad and Louis in the last few weeks. She’s just made of love. And mess.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, little bean,” Louis offers, lifting Millie out of her bumble seat. She’s fatter and heavier and wrigglier than ever now, and when she kicks Louis in the gut, it almost hurts. Louis hitches her up onto his shoulder and Millie grins at him with two teeth. He smiles back and kisses her nose, then asks, “What colors are we supposed to do today, again?”

“‘Warm colors’?” Harry quotes, sarcastically flipping air-quotes with his fingers. “We’re supposed to look like, summery, I guess. There’s a yellow dress for Millie I think’ll work. I’ve got nothing, but I do have brown trousers. You should wear that, um – the striped thing, the brown and tan one. Then we’ll match a bit.”

“I think I’ll call Hannah and see what she’s got,” Louis says. “And my eyes hurt, think I’m gonna wear glasses today.”

“Alright,” Harry says, nodding. “Millie’ll grab ‘em off your face, though.”

“I know she will,” Louis coos, rubbing noses with Millie while she breathes pudding-breath on him. “If you need a shirt, H, you can borrow. I’ve got yellow and red.”

“D’you have orange?” Harry asks with interest. “I like orange.”

“You’re the only person on earth who likes orange, honestly,” Louis sniffs, sweeping Millie out of the kitchen. “Let’s go get you clean and in a pretty yellow dress, Milliebean.”

“Beeee!” Millie yells again, chugging her legs and kneeing Louis soundly in the ribs. Louis laughs softly and sings Millie a very moving, gentle rendition of “What’s My Name?” while he washes pudding and other random splotches off her face and hands and belly in her plastic tub on the bathroom counter. Once she’s all dried off and in a fresh nappy, and has stopped whimpering wetly from having her matted curls brushed out carefully with a soft-bristled brush, Louis carries Millie into his bedroom, calls to let Harry know that he can have the bathroom for his shower, and settles Millie down on the floor on her back.

They had learned their lesson about leaving her unattended on beds three weeks prior – Harry set her down on her back on the bed in a Newcastle hotel, and Millie rolled herself back-to-front-to-back right off the bed and fell with a terrifying _crunch_ to the floor. Harry had thrown up and passed out right alongside her, leaving Louis to run around in a panic with two unconscious Styleses on his conscience until Millie woke herself up with a gasp and a shrieking-shrill laugh, making Louis twist his ankle as he rushed over to her. 

All three of them ended up needing an ambulance to the A&E, and Louis had been on crutches for two days. 

Millie, it transpired, was the only one who had no injuries at all, since Harry hit his head on his way to the floor and had a wicked goosegg for nearly a week.

After a second batch of stories about Millie Styles needing the emergency room while in Harry- and Louis’ care in under a month, Modest! had set a policy with the boys: for their own protection, and Millie’s, they needed to be seen out with her more often for happy things. Trips to the park, ice cream outings with Millie in tow, Millie in little rickshaw carriages on the back of their bicycles. _And_ , Jones had added coolly, _so no one confuses you to think you’re parenting her as a couple, why don’t you give that beautiful blonde a call now and then, Mr. Tomlinson?_

So they sold ‘exclusives’ to Heat and OK! and color-coordinated their outfits, and take Millie on ridiculous outings to make Harry look like the responsible parent he really is… and to make Louis look the heterosexual he isn’t.

Louis rustles around in his closet, looking for the brown-and-tan striped shirt, still humming Rihanna under his breath. Millie immediately rolls herself over onto her belly and looks curiously around Louis’ room. There are all sorts of interesting things in here that she can see from her height; piles of soft fabric all over that smell like Louis, bright-colored shoes under the bed, wires and cords that look good for chewing.

There’s a _thud_ from behind him, and Louis whirls around, half-trapped in the shirt. “Milliebean? Whatcha doin’?”

“Galmo!” Millie calls back, muffled, and Louis fights his way quickly out of the shirt.

Millie is sitting at the heel of his nightstand, chewing on the toe of a green TOMS and staring up at him with round eyes.

Louis is aghast. “How’d you get there?” He hurries around and pries the shoe out of her mouth. “Don’t eat that, sweetie, that’s yucky. _Yucky_.”

Millie flaps her arms, disgruntled. Louis scoops her up and cuddles her. “How did you get over here, little bean?”

Millie goes limp in his arms and hard to hold, so Louis sets her down on the floor again on her back. He watches intently as Millie rolls herself to her front, looks around, sets her sights on a pile of laundry a few feet away, and walrus-crawls over, using her arms to pull her slack legs behind her. She falls into the laundry pile with a soft _flump_ and immediately cuddles her face into the armpit of a red striped shirt that smells of Louis.

“Harry!” Louis yells. “Millie’s crawling! Sort of!”

There’s a clattering ruckus as Harry drops dishes in the sink and his feet slap across the floor, running to Louis’ room. Louis plucks Millie out of the laundry and kisses her little face all over. 

“D’you wanna show your dad?” he murmurs, kissing her nose. “Yeah?”

He sets Millie down on her back again and Millie grunts as if to say, _you know I can roll from here; why not set me on my front, for pete’s sake?_

Harry turns up in the doorway and Louis gestures for him to kneel down to Millie’s eyeline, so they both crouch, smiling at her.

Millie writhes once, then rolls onto her belly. She peers around and her face cracks into a sunshine grin when she sees Harry’s smile.

“Taglaooh-ooh!” she offers, and walrus-crawls over to him, panting all the way, before collapsing, exhausted, with her face on his knee.

“ _Millie_ ,” Harry breathes, enamored, as he lifts her up to snuggle into his chest, “You’re such a big girl! Look at you, on the go. You can play at the park today on the grass, can’t you?”

“Do we need to baby-proof the flat?” Louis asks, kneeing over to kiss the back of Millie’s head. “Or have we done?”

“We’ve got those plugs over all the sockets,” Harry says thoughtfully. “I guess just a general cleaning, which we needed anyway. I’ll call Anya I suppose once we’re dressed.”

“I feel bad that she has to clean up after us,” Louis admits.

“She’s a maid,” Harry laughs. “That’s what her job is.”

“I know, I still just feel bad,” Louis says. “We’re a mess.”

“We’re a bit busy,” Harry defends. “With this this little crawling machine!”

Harry and Louis share a fond, excited smile over Millie’s head, and for a moment Louis feels his stomach turn over again. Living like this, together all the time, working, playing, responsible for a whole little _person_ together, it was sort of impossible to quash his crush, no matter how often he went out or how many drugs he took to get it up for other boys.

Louis stands up and turns back to his closet. “Did you want a shirt?”

“No, that’s okay,” Harry says. “I think I’ll just wear a white one with the brown trousers and that’ll be it. Did you call Hannah?”

“Oh, shit, I forgot,” Louis says, “What with Millie _crawling_.” They share another smile and Millie wiggles happily at the emotion in the room. “I’ll call her now. Did you want me to keep an eye Millie while you get dressed still?”

“No, I’ll put her in the bouncer,” Harry says thoughtfully. “You still have to do your hair. Unless you’re going out like that?”

Louis absently touches his fringe. “I suppose I won’t, if it looks that bad.”

“It doesn’t,” Harry says quickly. “You look good – I mean, it looks good. Fine. If you wanted.”

Louis blushes. “I’ll fix it.”

Louis kisses Millie’s round cheek and she coos, cuddling into Harry’s shoulder as he carries her out of Louis’ room. Hannah arrives not long after, beautiful and breezy in a sunshine-yellow eyelet lace sundress and bright orange enamel jewelry, which makes Harry exclaim _Ha! Someone else on earth likes orange!_ and they share a laugh as Louis rolls his eyes behind the square glasses frames.

Millie, in her own sundress and matching culottes beneath to cover her nappy in yellow ruffles, is so darling that Louis can hardly stand it, and takes about twenty photos of her to tweet from her @ **Real_BabyMillie** twitter account (another of Jones’ ideas, “to show One Direction from Millie’s perspective.” Mostly Harry and the boys take photos while lying on the floor at her eyeline and tweet nonsense like, _Paul Higgins wears the socks of a hero_ and _Look at all this sandwich @NiallOfficial dropped for me!_ , but other times, they tweet photos of Millie herself, or of Harry- and Louis holding her.)

“‘Six months old today!’” he recites in a high-pitched ‘Millie voice’ as he composes the tweet, and Harry nods. “‘This dress shows off my buff arms from crawling!’”

Harry and Hannah laugh, and Harry smooths Millie’s flyaway hair back from her face. “Sounds good. Millie, your hair’s a mess. We might have to cut it soon.”

“Oh, no,” Hannah urges, “Don’t do that. Here – ” she rummages in her purse and pulls out a hair clip embossed with daisies. She smooths Millie’s curly fringe away from her eyes and secures it with the clip and Millie grins, drooling through her teeth. “There you go! What a beautiful big girl!”

Millie whistles loudly through her nose and flails all of her limbs and they all kiss her face, making Millie scrunch her nose and yowl. Louis pulls away from the knot of people, though he keeps one hand on Millie’s kicking leg, and dials in to the X17 express line with One Direction’s confirmation code – 52779, which he realized early on spelled ‘Larry’ and felt a bit like he was tied to some wood in a witch hunt – and lets the agency know that they’re all en route to Lordship Rec park. 

“Ready, my beautiful girlfriend, in whom I have _so much sexual interest_?” Louis asks Hannah, proffering her his elbow. 

“I will try to keep my burning loins from scorching us all at the playground, my love,” Hannah snorts as she slips her arm through his. Harry buckles wriggly Millie into their ‘summeriest’ kangaroo carrier, a red number with racing stripes, and Louis offers to shoulder the bag of baby goods – blankets, nappies, two jars of baby food and spoons, a jumper and leggings in case it’s cool, a little sun hat and sunscreen in case it gets warm – and picnic food, to make the outing ‘look plausible.’

The sky is a woolly gray-blue over the park, but the grass is green and wet from last night’s rain. When the blustery breeze picks up to roll across the meadowland of the playground, it’s shivery-cool outside like a reminder of the late air frost overnight, but the patchy sunlight peeking through the clouds is warm enough and makes Millie giggle and stretch out, basking. They spread a pale green blanket out over the dewy grass and settle Millie on it on her back so she can show Hannah her new trick. Millie rolls herself over and shimmy-crawls over to Harry first, her little sundress riding up to show the yellow ruffled culottes and her wrinkled, fat babythighs to the paparazzo’s camera, clicking away from nearby. 

Hannah and Louis don’t have to fake their enthusiasm as they clap and cheer for Millie, and she shrieks gladly with a fist in her mouth as Harry helps her stand on unsteady, wedge-shaped feet for a victory bounce. 

They spend most of the afternoon putting Millie through her paces cruising between Harry and the artfully-arranged lovebird lounging of LouisAndHannah, draped over each other with their fingers laced. Harry’s sure the paparazzo got an unfortunate series of photos of him trying to coax Millie to spit out a ladybug she’d discovered on the blanket and quick-as-a-wink stuffed in her mouth, but Louis and Hannah snogged and Millie didn’t cry, so hopefully the story couldn’t be spun as damning.

The stories that stem from their calls to X17 are generally always kind – cute, fluff pieces about how in love Louis and Hannah are; cute, fluff pieces about how adorable Millie is and how fast she’s growing, with spotlights on the brands of baby food and gear Harry uses to care for her. They don’t get paid for the photos, and as far as Harry knows, Modest! doesn’t pay for them, but keeping One Direction in the news is a good thing, Jones keeps telling them. There’s still money to be made on keeping Harry, and One Direction, in the public’s good graces. 

And Harry knows it’s good for his own sanity to keep good stories in balance with the bad ones, the accounts of Millie in the A&E, the editorials from people lambasting him for allegedly promoting having a child as a teen, the people who take liberties to question – in the _newspaper_ \-- whether Millie won’t turn out “odd” from being raised by two men together.

After a few hours, the sun ducks behind more gray clouds and Millie whimpers forlornly, tired and cold, so Harry and Louis wrestle her into the leggings beneath her dress and button the duck-shaped buttons of her jumper over her round baby belly. Her curls and the daisy clip are all askew around her face, so they sit Millie down in Hannah’s lap to let her fix it while Louis drapes a cardigan over Hannah’s shoulders like a good boyfriend.

Glen, their usual pap, shoots Harry a thumbs’ up that the job for today is timed out and there are enough shots for rags to spin a story overnight. He cycles away on his bike while Harry tucks Millie into the kangaroo and she immediately cuddles closer into his warm chest, smudging her face against his sternum and resting her ear over his heartbeat, kicking sleepily, tired out and cranky from so much crawling and playing. Louis and Hannah fold up the blanket and pack the baby bag.

Louis kisses Hannah’s forehead sweetly. “Did you want some dinner or tea or summat?”

“No, thanks,” Hannah says. She gives Louis a tight hug, her chin digging into his sternum and making him wince so she laughs. “I’ve got a train leaves at half-five, and I promised Charlotte I’d be home by eight so we can watch last night’s _Eastenders_ and get in a Chinese. Something _bonkers_ is gonna happen with Ronnie, so she wants to make a night of it.”

Louis laughs low in his chest. “Alright. Tell her I said hello.”

“Of course!” Hannah enthuses. She lets go of Louis and turns to kiss Millie’s head and give Harry a sideways hug and kiss to the cheek. “See you when I see you. Hopefully soon!”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” Harry enthuses. Hannah turns to start off towards the train station, but Harry unclips the daisy barette from Millie’s hair. “Wait, Hannah – your – hair thing?”

“Keep it,” she calls back, smiling at him and jogging backwards a few paces. “Her hair’s wild; you’ll need a lot more of those. Don’t cut it! She’ll never forgive you.”

Harry nods his thanks and carefully clips Millie’s curly fringe back again. She gives him a sleepy smile and a long blink, then settles her face back down against his chest.

Harry looks over to Louis, still standing there shivering without his cardigan, holding the baby bag. 

“Were you, erm, going out tonight?” he asks.

“No, I wasn’t – planning on it,” Louis says. “We’ve got that meeting tomorrow with Savan to pick songs off the demos, so… early night.”

“Right,” Harry remembers, nodding. “Did you want to get some dinner maybe?”

“With you, or to bring home?”

Harry frowns. “With me, of course. And Mills. Just… feel like I never really see you lately. Except at home.”

“Right,” Louis says lowly. “Yeah, sure, we can get dinner. I saw a few places near here, erm… McDonalds, Nando’s? Polish place? Japanese?”

“When have I _ever_ wanted Japanese?” Harry laughs. “Nando’s is fine, if you want. D’you want?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis says, and wonders, with a stone in the pit of his stomach, when things between he and Harry got so awkward.

•••

The next week of April passed with torrential thunderstorms; long, dull meetings in board rooms, listening to bad demos that practically pulsed with ‘rejected by The Wanted and JLS’ and had no hint of what they wanted to sound like ‘One Direction’; Millie dragging herself around on her arms, putting _everything_ in her mouth and screaming when Harry tried to get her to spit out the paper clips, dust bunnies, dead beetles, and dropped crisps; and Louis, going out at night, coming back around Millie’s five-AM feeding to slip off to bed for a few hours.

“Have you tried _talking_ to him, sweetheart?” Anne asks a harassed Harry over Skype at the beginning of May, just before the boys are to head to Kent to record some tracks. “I’m sure he’s not doing anything maliciously. Knowing Louis, and what Jay’s told me, he probably thinks that staying out of your way is what you want.”

“But why would he think that?” Harry asks desperately, struggling to keep hold of wriggling Millie in his lap, and finally giving up to set her down on the rug at his feet. She takes off cruising immediately, legs still slack behind her like trailing fronds. Harry frowns. “Should she be moving her legs yet crawling?”

“It’s alright if she isn’t,” Anne promises. “If not by… August, then maybe take her in to a doctor, but all babies grow at their own pace.” She pauses. “And so do relationships. I think you just need to talk to Louis.”

“I want to,” Harry hedges, “But I’m not sure what I’d say.”

“Well, I think you need to figure that out first, Harry,” Anne says gently. “I know you and Louis mean the world to each other, but you’re living something really confusing right now. Are you a popstar or a dad, are you roommates or co-parents, is Millie just yours… or is she a bit his?”

“Millie’s mine,” Harry says defensively, watching her slobber on a toy block. “Everyone knows that clearly.”

“How do you think that makes Louis feel?” Anne asks. “He’s there every day, every night, taking care of her, too. She loves him so much, and I know he loves her, too. You should hear how Jay says he talks about her. And you, as well.”

“But he _knew_ moving in that she’s just mine,” Harry protests. “The other person whose she is didn’t want us. Louis knows that.”

“You ought to stop thinking of how Clare didn’t want to have a family with you, Harry, and start thinking about the people who _do_ ,” Anne says, not quite so gently as before. “Millie’s going to be talking soon, and when she calls people how she relates to them, you’re going to build a family around that. You’ll always be her dad, but she’s her own little person with her own feelings and her own love and… it’s your responsibility, and Louis’, to make sure that you’re bringing her up with something she gets to keep. You know how much it hurt you when your dad left – ”

“ _It didn’t_ ,” Harry hisses. “It was good he left. You know that’s when it _stopped_ hurting me. And Robin’s great.”

“Okay,” Anne agrees mildly, “So it was good for Millie when Clare left you. And Louis is great, sweetheart. You owe it to Millie and to Louis and to yourself to make sure you’re showing that.”

“I don’t really know what he wants from me,” Harry admits, shrugging. “He’s my best friend. I treat him like it, I think.”

Anne looks sad. “ _Talk to him, sweetheart_. Please.”

“I’ll try,” Harry equivocates. The alarm on his phone rings, and Harry startles. “Mum, I’ve got to go, we’ve a meeting downtown.”

“Alright, darling. I love you. And the Little.”

“We love you too, Mum,” Harry promises, smiling. Anne blows him a kiss and Harry kisses back before shutting down his computer. 

Millie yowls, kicking and whining, when Harry tries to bundle her into the waterproof kangaroo; he takes a teething ring out of the freezer and offers it to her, but she just grumbles.

“Alright, alright,” Harry grumbles back, pocketing the cold teething ring because she’s sure to want it later. “Let’s go. We’ll see Louis soon; he always knows how to cheer you.”

The meeting is long, dull, and tedious prepwork for their trip to Kent. It’s interrupted three times by Millie, crawling about beneath the table; once, she needs a nappy changing – the second time, Harry looks under the table and sees her eating her way through a pile of discarded carpet fluff from the vacuum and she cries when he pries it away, but no one is surprised when the third time, she throws up half-digested carpet fluff and strained peaches all over Liam’s shoes.

Harry is so frazzled by the end of the meeting that he just says slumped in his seat, forehead pasted to the conference table, and lets Louis deal with gathering up sullen Millie and cooing gently with her, trying to cheer her up. When a _mamama_ slips out of her mouth as she pokes at Louis’ ear, Harry lifts his head and clears his throat. The boys all look over.

“So, um, basically,” Harry starts, fumbling a little, “My mum says that Millie is about probably going to start talking soon? And um, for her to like, learn – learn like, family words properly, erm… well, she’s gotta hear them like we’re gonna want her to say them? So, erm, whenever Millie is around, basically, you’ve gotta refer to me as ‘Dad.’”

They all blink at him.

“Harry, I love you, god knows I do, but I am not calling you Daddy,” Zayn snorts, and Niall dissolves in laughter.

“Just when Millie’s around!” Harry protests petulantly, lips pouting out. “I don’t want her to call me ‘Harry,’ that’s weird!”

“Weirder than a bunch of grown men calling you ‘daddy’?” Liam asks. Even _his_ eyes are sparkling, and that’s how Harry knows that somehow, he’s made a terrible mistake.

He doesn’t get a chance to sit down with Louis and talk to him that night, as they run around preparing for Kent. Harry’s worried that there was some sort of strange carpet cleaner on all the fluff Millie ate, because she’s listless and sick all evening and the _last_ , the fucking _last_ thing he needs right now is to have to deal with newspaper reports that she’s been poisoned, and then he’s wracked with guilt for thinking of it in those terms and he breaks down and cries in the kitchen after Louis’ put her down to sleep, fitful and whimpering, in her crib.

“She’s alright, H,” Louis soothes, coming up behind Harry and rubbing his side gently. If maybe Louis lets himself linger a moment, breathing in Harry’s warm, sweet smell, then no one needs to know. He tips his head and lets his forehead rest against the back of Harry’s neck. “She’s just upset her tummy. All babies do.”

“It’s just – a lot,” Harry mumbles. “Her, and the vocal parts, and Kent, and – are you upset with me, Lou?”

“No,” Louis says quickly, “Why would you ever think that?”

“You’re just not around so much, not since the tour,” Harry attempts, waffling, not really sure how to talk about this, not sure what he even wants as the outcome. It’s a grown-up talk, for adults who live together and are raising a baby together, but Harry isn’t an adult, he thinks, and it’s not – it’s not like Millie _really_ is Louis’ responsibility, so what right has he to ask anything of him?

“I’m around,” Louis says defensively. “I just… I guess I go out a lot. But it’s not ‘cause I’m upset. I love Millie. And you.” He swallows. “You’re my best mate. Besides Stan, and he’s in Doncaster.”

“Right,” Harry says. He pauses, and the silence feels built for words he doesn’t have. “You’re my best mate, too.”

“I know,” Louis murmurs, and if Harry weren’t so distracted, he would hear how sad the words are coming from Louis’ mouth. “I know I’m your best friend.”

“Millie really loves you,” Harry offers. “I hope you know.”

“I do, yeah,” Louis promises. “When we get back from Kent, I’ll try to be around more, yeah? You should take an afternoon off when we get home. I’ll watch Millie. As long as you want.”

Harry’s heart sinks a bit, and he’s not sure why. It’s not like he doesn’t want an afternoon to himself to just be Harry, not have to be One Direction’s Harry Styles or Teenage Dad Harry Styles or One-Half of Larry Stylinson Harry Styles. But what he wanted was more time _with_ Louis, not more time without him.

“Sure,” Harry says. “Thanks.”

Louis smiles and pats Harry’s side. “Good lad. D’you fancy a cuppa?”

“No, thanks,” Harry says dully. “I think I just want to sleep.”

“Alright,” Louis says. “I’ll get up with Millie tonight. You can just sleep if you want. I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“Okay.” Harry smiles at Louis with his lips closed. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Louis says. Harry hugs him, and it’s awkward.

It never used to be awkward. Back during the X Factor, they would sleep in the same bed, curled like spoons, and it was never awkward.

Harry almost wants to ask, _Hey, d’you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?_ but somehow… he knows it would come out wrong. Possessive, or – like he _wants_ something he doesn’t want. Doesn’t think Louis wants, even, or he wouldn’t go out so much, would he?

So he goes to bed alone, and it takes a long time to fall asleep.

Things are better in Kent. The five boys and Millie and Savan and Paul and not really anyone else, not anyone they know anyway, not anyone they have to share _all_ their time with, three meals a day and three hotel rooms; Harry and Louis sharing with a crib for Millie between their beds. When Millie sleeps, Harry and Louis talk quietly over her head from bed to bed – nothing things, television and movies, the upcoming new series of X Factor, how it’s been a year since their first auditions in Manchester. Not real things. But it’s okay. It’s a start.

While Harry and Louis are recording or eating or catching catnaps, the other boys play with Millie. There’s an unspoken competition to be her first word, and they’re all resorting to sneaky tactics: Niall tries bribing her with vanilla yogurt until Louis catches him and smacks the back of Niall’s head.

Off in the corner, it’s Liam’s turn to play with Millie, sitting on the floor with a pile of foam blocks to build towers and let Millie knock them down with gleeful yells.

“Now, Millie,” says Liam seriously, holding her up straight so they can stare into each other’s’ eyes. Millie reaches out with both hands and latches onto Liam’s nose. “Listen. Lee-yum. Lee-yum. Now you say it. Lee-yum.”

Millie blows a raspberry.

Liam blinks the spit from his eyelashes. “No. But that’s a good try. Listen again. Lee-yum.”

Two days into the trip, Millie is bored and fussy, already having explored everywhere she can walrus-crawl and getting in the way, constantly under foot. Savan buys a little toy piano up the road on his way in in the morning, and Millie is completely enamored. Louis sits with her and the piano in his lap all morning, playing little kiddie tunes and letting Millie’s round eyes follow his fingers; occasionally, she darts out to plunk at a key with her sticky little fingers, giggling and looking up at him in amazement when she makes music come out of the piano.

When it’s Louis’ turn to record, Zayn slides in and takes his place sitting with Millie on the floor. Millie cuddles up to him immediately, pushing her face into the crease of his jaw and slurping wet kisses on his neck. Zayn laughs and jerks his head away from all the slobber, but Millie just grins up at him, eyes shining.

“Come on,” Zayn urges her, plunking out a tune on the little Cassio. “Say ‘Zayn.’ It’s the shortest one! You can think of it as a gimme, okay? ‘Zayn.’ ‘Zayn.’”

“Ba,” Millie says back, pushing at his fingers so she can take over the keys.

“Zayn,” Zayn repeats.

“Ba,” Millie says sagely, plip-plipping on the little piano keys. 

“Yeah, right, fine. ‘Ba,’” Zayn sighs, pulling baby and piano alike into his lap.

•••

After Kent, Louis keeps his word. He stays home more nights – though not all – and, on Saturday morning, Millie cocked on his hip and a mug of tea in his other hand, he says, “H, take today. I promised, so go. Millie and I can hold down the fort.”

“How will you eat?” Harry asks suspiciously, his voice crinkling from sleep. 

“Harold, I can manage breakfast,” Louis says loftily. “I never tire of Magic Sandwiches. And for lunch, I can take her out, can’t I? Dinner may be a challenge. You may need to be back by tea to feed me or I’ll wither.”

Harry laughs under his breath. “Yeah, okay. I’ll take the day then. Thank you.”

“I’m looking forward to it, honestly,” Louis says. “This little bean and I need to catch up on her gossip. Right, sweetie bean?”

Millie bares her three teeth and chants _glblglblglbl!_ , so Louis kisses her nose. “That’s right! ‘Gossip, gossip, gossip!’”

“You’re horrible,” Harry groans as he stretches, cracking his back. 

Louis winces. “You ought to get your back checked out while you’ve got time, H. That’s horrible. At least get a massage or something.”

Harry blows a long breath out through his teeth and collapses face-first onto the pillows. “That actually sounds like a brilliant idea.”

Warm weight lands on the base of his back and Millie flops down, smudging her face along the wing of Harry’s shoulder blade. 

“Kiss your daddy bye,” Louis tells her, sing-song. “Then you’re coming with me, little bean! We’re gonna make a breakfast sandwich!”

“Boollou,” Millie agrees, nuzzling the nape of Harry’s neck. 

Harry hums and reaches behind himself to pat Millie’s rump. “Be good for Louis, beanface.”

The weight disappears as Louis lifts Millie back into his arms. “She’s always good for me,” he brags, and carries her out of the kitchen.

Harry only stops in the apartment long enough to kiss Millie’s face twice, then, on a whim, Louis’ cheek. Once he leaves, his first stop is Marmalade, a tiny brown awning that’s opened up almost nearby and reminds him wistfully of Mandeville’s once he steps inside. The tea is good and strong, he gets a toastie and a slice of carrot cake and both come perfectly baked. He takes his phone out to tweet (“Dad’s day off! Hoping Millie can keep a good eye on @Louis_Tomlinson….. .x”) and, to his dismay, drops it right into the cake.

After eating, and leaving a generous tip – because he’s worked in a bakery, and leaving tips now that he can afford them is something he considers a responsibility as much as a luxury – he heads out to the tube and up towards a masseuse Lou Teasdale and Caroline Watson recommended. He tromps across the street after, feeling boneless and happy, to Garry to get his hair cut. When he’s all shined up, hair almost dry and feeling rather bouncy and extra-curly, he gets a parma ham and mozzarella ciabatta at Camden Bar & Kitchen.

He tries to ignore that cameras are assembling outside – and he didn’t call them. He doesn’t like the way the unwanted paparazzi treat him, and maybe tweeting that he had a day out alone was a bad move. 

“Heya, Harry, knock up any small-town sluts lately?”

“Harry, why’d you leave the boyfriend home today? Lovers’ spat?”

“What kind of a dad leaves a baby home alone, Harry?”

Harry keeps his head down and ducks into the next open door he sees – a vintage shop, maybe a little feminine for his taste but not bad and not somewhere he minds being photographed at all. Harry ducks behind a rack of colorful wellies and waits for the clamor outside the windows to die down before standing.

“Can I help you?” 

Harry looks over his shoulder and down at a pixie of a girl standing tall in five-inch high boots. One of her black thigh-high stockings droops just a little, showing that stretch of inner thigh that just _looks_ ticklish and shivery. The side of her head is shorn short, almost to the scalp, but the rest is a tumble of long, streaky auburn and red curls. She’s pretty, with gapped teeth and oversize eyelashes. Her nipples peek up at him through her dowdy-chic ‘90s dress.

“Yeah, actually,” Harry says, turning to face her and leaning his shoulder on the wall. “I’ve just moved into a new flat and I’m looking for some albums to put up on the walls. What’s good?”

“Well, that depends,” she says, cocking out a hip. “What sort of guy are you? Are you a bloke? Are you a lad? Are you a geek?”

“What d’you think?” Harry asks. “This all sounds a bit Breakfast Club to me. Am I jock or a brain or a basketcase. Or a princess.”

The girl grins. “I think you’re cheeky. Cheeky chappy. I’m Elisa, by the by.”

“I’m Harry.” 

Elisa’s stuck out her hand, so he shakes it.

She grins. “I know. I saw you naked on television. That’s how I know you’re cheeky.”

Harry smiles his best smile, slow like syrup, and lets Elisa lead him around to the milk crates of albums along the wall. “What did you think?”

She looks over her shoulder coquettishly. “I think you’re even better-looking in person.” When she bends down onto her haunches to look through the stacks of vinyl, her skirt pools most of the way up her thighs.

Harry ends up leaving London Loves LA with Body Heat, Big, City Slickers, Risky Business, and –

“The Breakfast Club,” Elisa says, grinning beneath her eyelashes. “You’ll have to tell me whether you’re the basketcase or the jock.”

“I’m probably Principal Vernon,” Harry jokes, giving her a wink. “But I’ll let you know.”

When she rings him up at the counter, the bottom of his receipt reads _call me, principal vernon xx_ in loopy, girlish cursive. Harry grins and shakes out his relaxed shoulders and tosses his neat hair out of his eyes and buys himself a smoothie, letting himself linger in the Starbucks with his headphones in and Bloody Knuckles rumbling his iPhone. 

He heads home on the tube as the sun begins to set and brings a pizza with him to share with Louis, and he’s pleasantly surprised when he arrives at the flat to find his daughter and roommate napping on the sofa, Millie curled up like a pillbug on Louis’ chest and dribbling through his shirt. He snaps a photo before waking them, and they both smile at him like he’s the sun. Millie is extra-cuddly in his arms when he plucks her away from Louis, and Louis’ bleary eyes look more like _his_ than Harry’s seen in a long while as he fixes tea and takes plates out of their cupboards.

“Did’ja have a good day, H?” he asks, and his voice sounds wrecked from sleep. 

“Yeah, I did,” Harry says. He pauses. “I mighta met someone.”

Louis swallows and nods, pasting on a smile and setting out the plates. “That’s good, yeah?”

“Maybe,” Harry says, shrugging, as he buckles Millie into her bumble and takes a jar of Apple & Blackcurrant puree out of the refrigerator for Millie. Millie wriggles and reaches out for the pizza, frowning.

“I could kill Niall for feeding her grown-up food,” Harry grumbles, trying a smile. “It’s given her a taste for it.”

“Like human blood,” Louis agrees, “And narwhals or whatever.”

Harry throws his head back, laughing. “Do you mean _werewolves_?”

“No,” Louis says, and he lets himself laugh back. “Narwhals! They’re like floaty, legless unicorns, but with a taste human blood, aren’t they?”

Harry pulls a terrible face at Louis, all eyes and inside-out lips. “You’re honestly basically the weirdest person I know.” He shakes his head and takes Millie’s food out of the microwave to test on his wrist. “You’re lucky I love you anyway.”

Louis’ ears color and lips purse, but Harry doesn’t notice as he stirs the jar of baby mash and Louis stuffs an entire slice of pizza in his mouth. “Yeah, definitely,” Louis mumbles around the pizza. “Love you, too.”

Over the next week, Louis feels torn: Harry is acting more normal around him the less he goes out, even cuddling up around his legs to watch the news after Millie’s gone to sleep most nights, but he wonders whether that isn’t less because _he_ isn’t going out, and more because Harry’s found someone to go out _with_. He texts with the shop girl, Elisa, almost constantly, and asks for Louis’ opinion on jokes before texting them, on photos before sending them; he even takes a nude photo for her and shows it to Louis with a question in his eyes before sending that (and despite Louis saying that’s a _terrible_ idea). 

But all the same, Louis wants Harry to be happy, and to want to keep living with him and being his friend, so he lets Harry be happy if that’s what Elisa makes him. So a week later, on a Saturday night, he helps Harry pack an overnight bag and sends up downtown to take Elisa out.

After dinner, which is nice, but odd in ways Harry doesn’t quite want to admit to himself – not if sex is on the line after over a _fucking year_ \-- Elisa asks him if he wants to come to hers for a cup of ‘coffee.’ Harry smiles and leans across the table to kiss her once, softly, and agrees.

It’s beginning to rain when they run to board the tube; Harry slips his blue blazer around Elisa’s shoulders and flashes a smile. 

“Concerned and caring,” Elisa says, smiling back. “How paternal. That’s well charming.”

She slips her hand into his as they descend into the station. On the crowded train, Elisa grips the railing with gunmetal-gray manicured fingers and Harry cages his arms around her, crowding her, pressing in close. When the train takes a sharp turn and they sway on the railing, Harry steadies them with his hips, closing Elisa in against the restraint and touching his lips to the slope where her neck meets her shoulder.

They alight the train at Chalk Farm and immediately registered the roar of rain falling overhead, and Elisa surprises Harry by simply hiking up her little white socks and flipping up the collar of his blazer.

Harry grins and mounts a foot on the stairs. “Which way is your flat?” 

“Left.” Elisa bundles her red curls into one hand and deftly twists them into a knot at the top of her head. “It’s like a ten-minute walk though.”

Harry shrugs. “I won’t melt. Or we can get a cab.”

“Are you kidding?” Elisa laughs. “We’ll never get a cab in this weather. You’re not _that_ famous.”

And she starts up the steps and out into the rain, barely waiting for him to catch up before taking off down the street. Harry catches her hand quickly and she pulls him along the vined row of houses. An enormous bolt of lightning makes Harry jump just as Elisa unlocks the gate out front of her slightly decrepit building, and he can’t hear whatever she says over the roll of thunder as the red front door creaks open.

“What were you saying before?” 

“I live on the first floor,” Elisa repeats as Harry fights with the wind to shut the door again. “Second door in; it’s probably not locked, I never remember.”

“Feels a little presumptuous, letting myself in,” Harry says, shifting from one foot to the other. Elisa’s dress is soaked despite his blazer, and the thin cotton has gone transparent and clinging. 

Harry’s missed this. The anticipation, the innuendo.

Elisa is not one to mince words. “Alright, then don’t.” 

She smiles, though, and takes Harry’ hand again, leading him up the stairs to her door. 

“Make yourself at home,” she says, shaking out her hair from its bun, “D’you want a cuppa or anything?”

Harry looks around the small, messy apartment and it strikes him again just how lucky he is to live where he does. Elisa’s entire apartment could fit in his- and Louis’ living room. Elisa’s main room by contrast seems mostly to be made of windows, discarded magazines, and beer bottles. There is an oddly shaped piece of furniture taking up most of the room that Harry examines curiously until coming to the conclusion that it is a broken futon, half of it jammed up into a sofa and the other half a lumpy bed. 

“No, thanks,” he calls back to where Elisa is bustling around the tiny kitchen in her stocking feet. “I’m good.”

Elisa makes no apologies for the mess, and just hangs Harry’s blazer over the back of one of her kitchen chairs to dry out. Her black-rimmed eyes widen as she takes in the sight of Harry, his damp hair a riot of curls atop his head and falling to perfectly frame one green eye, pupils blown big and black as he stares at her. Her eyes trace over the soft, defined lines of his abdominal muscles – a pleasant surprise – through his wet shirt, and over his sharp hipbones, sweeping across his body to the ridiculous inches of bright boxer-briefs showing between his t-shirt and his jeans.

Lightning strikes so nearby that they both startle – the raw brick walls of the flat seemed to shake, and for just one moment the entire room is lit up like high noon.

And suddenly, Elisa has Harry pinned beneath her on the seating half of the futon, her lips pressed into his as her small hands trace over the skin just beneath his shirt.

If there’s one thing Harry is confident that he _knows_ , it’s how to kiss. His lips tease Elisa’s with tiny nibbles until she _almost_ grunts in frustration and _does_ slip her hands into his hair, tugging at the dark roots until he chuckles against her mouth and assents, kissing her bottom lip and then the top as his hands slid in opposite directions on her body – one north and into her damp red hair, and one south to ghost over her arse.

And then Elisa slides her tongue against Harry’s, and he feels it.

She has a tongue ring.

Harry’s kisses trail from her lips to her ear, whispering as another roll of thunder shakes the windows: “You’re a bit naughty, aren’t you?”

Elisa bites her lip and nods, looking anything besides naughty – just because her face is so fucking angelic, which turns Harry on maybe even more than the piercing. “Mm-hmm. Quite a naughty girl.” Her head falls back as his lips traverse her neck. His teeth nip at the pulse point below her ear as he covertly counts earrings. _Six._ Harry’s tongue slips into the tiny hollow where her clavicle joins and Elisa sighs. “What does Daddy do to naughty girls?”

Harry pulls back like he’s been burned and shakes his head rapidly. “Nope! Nope, don’t do that; that’s creepy. Nope. Sorry. Nope. Nope, creepy.”

Elisa looks down at him through downcast eyelashes. “Really? It’s that bad?”

“Yup,” Harry says firmly. “I’m – yup, nope, we’re going to have to start over. Not just now. Maybe in a few. Nope. Sorry.”

Elisa laughs softly through her nose and leans down to suck a kiss over the pulse beating in Harry’s neck. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it’d bother you… I just think it’s hot.”

“Can we not talk about it?” Harry asks, staring up at the ceiling. “Like, I just – _really_ not, okay. Just – I don’t – I can’t mix that with – sorry.”

Elisa pouts, but gently kisses Harry’s lips in apology. “Just forget it, then. Focus on me.”

Harry swallows and nods, sliding his hands down over the slight curve of her arse and pulling her down into him; her cotton slip of a dress hikes high on her thighs, but the spell is a bit broken. Harry glances over to the clock and sees that it’s gone past half-eleven; he wonders what’s going on at home, what Louis managed to find for supper, whether Millie is asleep with all this rain and thunder. 

Elisa grinds down against Harry’s hips and frowns slightly. 

“Hey,” she murmurs. She threads her fingers through Harry’s hair. “Come back.” She leans down and kitten-licks the side of his neck, the piercing a smooth pop against his skin. “What _would_ turn you on?”

Harry takes a deep breath and lets his head loll back, exposing more of his neck to her. She keeps her lips against his skin as she rolls her hips, fucking him through his jeans, and when Harry exhales he lets the tension run out of his body. To his relief, he starts getting hard again, and he slides her dress higher up her thighs and backside, discovering a pair of very small black-and-white panties and a softer-than-silk line of pale skin above them. 

When Harry opens his eyes, Elisa’s are only inches away, staring at him intently through their black kohl.

“Counting all of your piercings.”

Elisa’s eyes glow as she crosses her arms and pulls her dress off. She leans close before Harry really gets a look at the bra (it didn’t match the panties, which he appreciates) and tugs on his ear with her teeth. “There are twelve. How about finding them, instead?”

Harry growls and flips her flat on her back across the long bench of the futon. 

“One – tongue,” he murmurs, coaxing a deep kiss from her before pulling back to fix her with a smoldering stare. 

“Two through eight, left ear.” He pushes her hair back in a tender gesture and tickles the shell of her right ear with his nose. “Nine… ten…”

Elisa’s lips purse as she fails to stifle another smile. “You’re quite clever so far.”

And then lightning hits the building, loud and fierce and making Elisa shriek and clutch his shoulders – 

And they’re plunged into total darkness, the raging rain and late hour and loss of power combining to make a silent state so black that Harry felt blind.

Harry sits straight up and pats his pockets, searching for his phone. “I should call home,” he says. “I’ve got to make sure Lou and Millie are okay with the power, ‘cause her monitor might go out and then Lou won’t be able to hear her – ”

“Harry,” murmurs Elisa, sitting up too and draping her arms over his shoulders, “Relax. I don’t even think you’re on the same grid. There may still be electricity on at yours. And,” she adds as she trails her fingernails down over his chest, “You’ve got a girl alone in the dark. What do you want to do about it?”

Harry hesitates. The rain slashes at the windows outside, wind biting at the glass, and he looks out over the dark that’s fallen over Primrose Hill. In the distance, London’s still got lights on.

“Come on,” Elisa whispers. Her bare leg curls around his hips, skin blazing. “You’ve found ten. Two to go.”

Harry slowly slides his iPhone back into his pocket. Elisa smiles against the back of his neck.

“I like how protective you are,” she murmurs. “It’s like, dependable and secure. But you need to take care of yourself, too.” Her hand finds the front of his jeans and she rubs slow, firm circles with the heel of her hand, coaxing him alive. “Or I could take care of you.”

Harry nods and lets her pull him down over her as she lies back on the futon mattress again, framed by lightning and scattered slices of moonlight. He misses her mouth twice as he goes in for a kiss in the dark and makes them both laugh as he first gets her chin, then her nose, before gently kissing her mouth. She slides the hand away from his jeans as he settles between her legs and her hands work their way into his hair again, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck. 

Harry rumbles deep in his chest and slides his hand long the length of her leg where it’s still wrapped around his waist, curling his thumb around the knob of her ankle and massaging circles into her calf as he moves higher and higher, sweeping a long arc over her thigh and barely touching his fingertips to the soft fabric of her underwear before splaying his hand flat and gentle over her stomach.

Elisa mewls and Harry feels the muscles beneath her skin shifting, expanding and contracting.

“Hmmm,” he breathes, drawing circles with a fingertip around her navel, “I thought for sure this would be eleven.”

“It is,” Elisa says, “I just took the ring out. It’s a bit, you know. _Young_ to have a belly ring. Gets all stretched out as you get older and all and that’s not cute.” She sighs and threads her fingers through Harry’s curls as he ducks down to run his tongue over her skin. “And how’d you know eleven and twelve weren’t my nipples?”

Harry chuckles against her stomach. “‘Cause I always can see them through your shirts and they’re not done.”

Elisa fakes an affronted gasp and pushes Harry’s head down to kiss over her flat belly again and across the cradle of her hipbones. “Cheeky.”

Under the weight of the darkness and roar of rain lashing the windowpanes, their lips find and taunt each other: Harry kisses as a form of teasing, light and soft sucking kisses; Elisa kisses to consume and be consumed.

“Do you have any secrets?” Elisa asks, trying not to sound breathless or overeager as she reaches for the line of buttons down the front of Harry’s jeans.

Harry hums warm air against the crook of her neck as his hands came behind her and deftly unhook her bra. “Not so much. Everyone knows all my business.”

His fingertips trails lightly over Elisa’s skin as he pulls the material away from her body that she shivers into goosebumps and her nipples harden so tightly they pinch in the cool, damp air blowing in through cracks in the windows.

Harry’s skin is hot as he slides down Elisa’s body, and in the hanging moments where she can’t see where he’s going or hear his words or feel his hands or lips against her, Elisa thinks smugly that she may have found what remains of Harry Styles’ hidden secrets.

And then the soft tip of his tongue brushes over the small peak of her nipple; without the benefit of sight, of seeing Elisa’s face as he tries tugging with his teeth and soothing with over with his tongue, he listens for hitches in her breath or the small, shy curses that she seems to be trying to whisper so softly that he wouldn’t hear.

His mouth played at one breast and his palm cupped lightly over the other, barely touching. His other hand traces over the little length of her body, the side of his thumb caressing down the soft of her throat and feeling her swallow, over her sternum to feel her heart race and down over and across her flat belly to her hip, spanning her waist against his hand.

“I like that you’re so tiny…” he murmurs, the pad of his thumb rolling circles into the stretch of skin below her hipbone and just above the start of her simple knickers. “You could fit in my pocket and I could take you everywhere.”

Elisa pushes Harry’s jeans from his hips and he lets them fall with a wet thud to the floor. “As it is… you can take me anywhere.”

Harry laughs under his breath and peels her underwear down her legs, throwing it somewhere behind him. “Is that so? I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Elisa’s heart rate spikes as she waits, feeling him nowhere, naked save the darkness.

Without warning, his tongue is between her legs and Elisa gasps, her legs instinctively shutting around his head.

Harry laughs against her and rubs her thigh reassuringly, pulling them away from his head and draping them more comfortably over his shoulders. “I’ve found number twelve.”

His head dips back down and his curls tickle her skin. He nuzzles his nose against the strip of soft girl fur that seemed so innocent compared to the cold metal horseshoe he wasn’t at all surprised to find nestled around her swollen clit.

Elisa didn’t know how to respond as his lips open and kiss her softly. Harry tips her hips up and moves slowly and gently, torturing her with a wide, flat tongue and teasing fingers pressing somewhere that made her jump and Harry laughs and says _well you said anywhere!_ and Elisa laughs too and exclaims _I was lying, apparently!_ and then he puts his head back between her legs and twists his clever tongue, nudging the silver ring and drawing strange shapes and patterns that make her breath catch until finally she pushes his head down and his tongue delves inside where she _needs_ it and her other hand pinches her own nipple so hard that she wonders if she’ll bruise.

She doesn’t care if she does. Just when the timbre of her whimpers and the vice-grip of her thighs signal the beginning of her orgasm, his fingers are back, pressing – not _in_ , just pressing, brushing like he _knows_ and she wonders if what the internet says about him and Louis Tomlinson might really be true after all – and he gently pulls her fingers free of their tangle in his hair and slips her own thumb onto her clit, trusting her to know what to do to get _there_ , and he wishes he could see the movement he feels against his cheek. 

Almost instantaneously Elisa cries out, one of her small feet pressing hard into his shoulder blades. Harry is glad – too many girls tried to stifle themselves or, worse, Clare sometimes changed her sounds into porno movie moans that just made him laugh and then later wonder if she’d faked it.

Harry pushes his underwear down his legs as he nips his way back up Elisa’s body. Her head is still tipped back, long white neck bared, as she catches her breath through teeth bit into her lower lip. Harry runs his hands over the length of her sides and she catches his wrist, bringing his hand to rest over her belly. His eyebrows furrow, but he waits, stroking gently with his fingertips, as she calms and opens her eyes to look up at him with black-blown eyes.

“D’you have a condom?” Harry murmurs.

He’s holding his cock hard at the base because now that there’s a girl lying under him with goosebumps on her skin from an orgasm _he_ gave her, it’s like his body suddenly realizes just how long it’s been and he’s leaking everywhere, desperate to get inside.

“Don’t need one,” Elisa says, and her fingers twine with his over her stomach.

Harry’s eyes narrow. “No, I don’t play that game. It’s all well and good if you’re on the pill, but. Need a condom, too.”

Elisa makes a sad little noise in the back of her throat. “But I want to feel you. Inside. Keep you in me.”

“Sorry,” Harry repeats, carefully extricating his hand from her stomach. “It’s a dealbreaker.”

Elisa heaves a sigh and turns over to rummage around through her purse in the dark. She comes up with a foil packet and thrusts it into Harry’s hand. “Fine. Here.”

“Sick,” Harry says. He leans down to kiss her shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll definitely still feel me.”

He holds the little packet up to find the right corner to tear.

The light from outside shines through a pinprick in the center.

•••

Louis has just about finished his last cup of tea for the night, sitting on the sofa up against Millie’s wall so he can hear her over the soft sounds of _Bizarre Crimes_ on BBC3 – something about a robber found naked in a supermarket chimney with a kidnapped owl – when the front door flies open and Harry storms through. His knuckles collide with the jamb and he throws his keys to the floor before slamming the door only to open it and slam it shut again. He growls and kicks the small table they keep for their wallets and keys and it crashes to the floor. A glass bowl shatters.

Millie wails.

Harry’s hands clench into claws and tear into his hair as he trips over shoes and glass to cross off towards Millie’s bedroom.

Louis switches off his stupid police program and skates around the glass to grab Harry’s shoulders before he can make it to the hall. He wheels Harry around before he’s shaken off, and manages to steer Harry over to the sofa.

“Sit,” he orders, soft and stern and entirely too serious for Louis Tomlinson, as he pushes on Harry’s shoulders. “You are not going anywhere near Millie in this mood. You sit here and get ahold of yourself.”

“I should clean the glass,” Harry mumbles, not looking at him.

“No,” Louis says, shaking his head as Millie keeps shrieking. “Sit and think and _calm down_.”

He frowns right between the eyebrows and purses his lips like he might drop a kiss to the crown of Harry’s head, but instead just claps his hand over Harry’s tight shoulder again and rushes off to Millie’s room.

Harry’s elbows dig into his knees as he rests his face in his hands. He can hear Louis cooing at Millie through the wall; he’s singing some made-up thing about cheese and the moon and telling her jokes about little piggies and it really doesn’t take long for her to stop crying and start cooing back. Harry’s stomach twists and he just feels worse that Louis is better with her than he is, maybe; maybe all he can do is fuck things up and wait for someone else to fix it for him while he sulks and throws tantrums.

He hopes Millie didn’t inherit that.

The clock’s clicked over to half-two when Louis slides out of the nursery. He’s got his ridiculous animal slippers on this time and gets the broom to clean up the riot of glass on the floor before righting the end table. It’s a little crooked, and Louis finds the foot for one of its legs inside his blue striped Toms by the door, as if it had been tucked there.

Harry is still seated on the sofa with his fingers mussed into his curls. He tries to breathe, and listens to the silence from his daughter’s room.

And then Louis drops like a weight onto the seat beside him and puts his hands on the back of Harry’s neck. They’re cold, and he jerks his head up.

“Now,” Louis says lightly, “What went wrong there?”

“I got angry.” Harry shrugs. “At myself and at Elisa. And Clare. And – ”

“And Millie,” Louis prompts. “Just say it; you’ll better admitting it at least.”

“I won’t,” Harry says stubbornly. “I’ll just feel more guilty for longer. It’s not her fault she was born.”

“No,” Louis agrees. “Whose fault is it?”

“Mine,” Harry grumbles. “’Cause I’m a stupid idiot and I never think things through and I hurt everyone all the time and get away with it because people like my face and I never learn anything, do I?”

Louis does kiss the side of his head this time. “What happened on your date?”

Harry laughs thinly. “She wanted to have sex.”

“Since when do you think that’s a bad thing?” Louis asks with half a smile.

Harry doesn’t smile back. “Since she kept talking about how she wanted to ‘make her own Millie Styles,’ like she’s a purse or something. She asked whether Clare got any money. And she poked holes in all her condoms.”

Louis pulls a grotesque face. “That’s – really not on.”

Harry bites the side of his lip, looking down at his knees. He jabs at the inside corner of one eye, which is a telltale sign that he’s about two minutes from tears, so Louis wraps his arms around Harry and rests his chin against Harry’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry, Hazz.” He takes a deep breath and Harry feels it through his spine, the weight of Louis expanding and contracting against him. “Was that really worth coming in like that and breaking the dish for the keys and the table and scaring Millie about out of her wits?”

“That’s not the worst bit,” Harry mumbles.

Louis waits a long time before he squeezes Harry around the middle and says, “So?”

“She got so mad when I wouldn’t just have sex with her like that,” Harry mutters. “She acted like I was insulting her or something, and she said, ‘I don’t see see what the big deal is, that’s your whole image isn’t it, unprotected sex and saintly teenage fatherhood’? And it was just too much. Because she’s right. That’s the whole reason anyone even notices me at all. It doesn’t matter that we were on X-Factor or that our music is good pop music or that I sing okay. They just like a dumb kid with a scandal, don’t they?”

Louis presses his cheek against the side of Harry’s neck.

“I don’t want Millie to grow up thinking she’s just an accessory or just a scandal,” Harry whispers, and there go the tears.

“So she won’t,” Louis promises him, squeezing him tighter. “If you don’t want her to grow up an accessory… she won’t. It’s your choice; you’re her dad.”

Harry looks up at Louis with watery eyes full of resolve. “I don’t want to do the tabloid commercials anymore. Not with Millie. It’s not worth it to – to sell her like that.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees, and he brushes Harry’s hair back from his face tenderly. 

“I don’t think you should, either,” Harry presses. “With Hannah, I mean. It’s not – you’re lying. And I think it’s lying to yourself, too, like… you aren’t really with her, and she’s – can’t be with anyone while she’s supposed to be with you, and I think – Louis, you could come out, if you wanted. I think people would be okay with it. I’m the scandalous, fuck-up one, anyway, so I don’t think anyone would even… _care_ , really.”

Louis’ hands feel cold and he swallows jerkily. “I don’t want to come out, Harry. Not – yet. I don’t want to.”

Harry looks down and knows he’s overstepped, broken something that was just growing back between them. “Okay. Sorry. I’m… went overboard. But I don’t want to call the paps anymore for me or Millie, and – can you not call them when you’re with Millie, either?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis swears, and pulls Harry’s head back down to rest under Louis’ chin, cradled safe again. “You weren’t lying, though, when you had photos taken with Millie. All they did was prove you’re a great dad. It’s not like when I go with Hannah.”

“I didn’t mean it – ”

“Can we not talk, for a bit?” Louis asks despondently, scratching his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Can we just… be Louis and Harry, for like, one night? The way we were during the X Factor, before we had to worry about staged pap photos and manipulators who try to steal our sperm or whatever?”

Harry chokes a wet laugh and nods, tucking his face into Louis’ chest. The rain pours outside the windows and Millie sleeps soundly in her crib, rustling occasionally on the monitor screen as she rolls and jerks in her sleep, but they don’t move for a long time, both thinking about exactly what kinds of lies they might be telling the world by not being themselves, and all the truths they _want_ to tell each other.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	11. Chapter 11

Sweden is beautiful, sunny and bright and full of the scent of the ocean. The boys have been recording for two days and Millie’s been mainly cooped up in the studio in her collapsible playpen, pawing through cardtag books and chewing on the chunky, vegetable-oil-based crayons Zayn found in an art shop and keeps doggedly using to try to teach her colors and shapes. But now, Harry and Louis have the afternoon free while Liam records and rerecords his solos over and over, so they’ve strapped Millie in her pram and are enjoying the sunshine and freedom of being out in a new, foreign land. 

Millie, in her white sun hat, looks up at the blue sky and squints her eyes, reaching up for the clouds and baring her four-and-a-half teeth. “Gobo!”

“Yeah?” Harry asks, and leans down to thumb her cheek fondly. “Sky?”

Millie shakes her head. “Gobo.”

“Oh, yes, ‘Sweden,’” Harry agrees. 

“I think she’s saying ‘globe,’” Louis offers, pointing up at the sun. “Maybe she thinks all circles are globes.”

“Why would she know what a globe is, but not a circle? Or the sun?”

“I don’t know,” Louis shrugs. “We’ve left shapes to Zayn; who knows how he’s teaching them? Crazy man.” He smiles at Harry, then shrugs and turns his own face up to the sky. “Whatever she’s saying, she’s got the right idea. This is glorious. We should move to Sweden, Harold. It’s all sunshine and sea and tall people here.”

“And vodka,” Harry adds. “Niall’s still out for the count, last he texted me this morning.”

“Yeah, my tongue’s feeling a bit hairy,” Louis admits. “Think I need a sandwich or toast or summat. D’you want to attempt ordering lunch?”

“ _Ja_ ,” Harry says, and wheels Millie’s pram around on the sidewalk to look for a café. “Does… anything look like it might sell food? Where are we?”

“Sveavägen,” Louis recites, looking up at the chrome lettering on an expansive glass window. “There’s pictures of teacups on that window up there, must be food, too, right?”

“I guess so,” Harry says. “We can always ask. What’s the word for food again?”

“Hang on a mo’,” Louis says, and fishes their phrasebook out of the pocket on Millie’s pram. She cranes her head around, babbling, and Louis smiles and kisses her cheek before standing. “Um… food… is… ‘livsmedel.’ So we’re just going to find a person and ask, ‘Livsmedel?’ and look hungry?”

“That’s my plan,” Harry says. “Unless we can get Millie to do it. Little bean, say ‘livsmedel.’”

“Laluboo,” Millie offers, and pulls at the ruffled brim of her sunhat. Harry pats her head, and they push the pram into the entrance of the Sveavägen 20. In the bustling lobby, still quiet and calm but full of people getting where they need to go, Louis lifts Millie onto his hip while Harry collapses the pram and wrestles it into the big care bag on his shoulder. 

“Svenska, little bean,” Louis says, bouncing Millie on his hip. “Yeah?”

“Aymaow,” Millie argues, and pats Louis’ cheek. 

Louis sighs. “I wish you’d talk, beanface. Say ‘Louis.’”

“You mean ‘say Mum,’” Harry argues, grinning cheekily at Louis, as he folds the last bars of the pram into his bag.

“Shut up, Harold!”

Millie purses her lips and blows a spitbubble, then shakes her head and buries her wet face against Louis’ neck. After Harry stands, brushes curls out of his own eyes first and then Millie’s, and has kissed Millie’s nose, they wander their way through the Sveavägen 20 lobby to a blue-and-white sign reading _Wayne’s Coffee_.

“Oh, it’s like Starbucks!” Louis exclaims, delighted. “You did it, little bean! You found the livsmedel!”

Millie preens, gnashing her teeth and kicking her ankles to jam Louis in the ribs. The buckles on her new tiny white sandals catch in his shirt.

Louis orders a very large Earl Grey tea and a pasta with tomato sauce; it comes with dark bread and feta and cream cheese to spread on it, and a salad of lettuce, tomatoes, onions, cucumbers and more cheese – he gives Millie two cubes of the pale, soft cheese and she grins at him through her almost-five teeth and noms on the cheese cube for a long time. 

“Quite a hangover cure,” Louis comments, after a grateful sip of strong tea.

“Good at planning, those Swedes,” Harry hums, tearing bits from his vanilla bun, topped with sliced almonds and icing. He has some sort of bitter blueberry smoothie at his side, and lets Millie drink a tiny sip through the wide straw.

“But poor at explaining how to put furniture together,” Louis points out, and Harry laughs even though the joke is old and tired. They gathered their food at the counter and brought it all, and Millie with her jar of bread & butter pudding for a treat, down to the outdoor seating along Sveavägen to soak in the sunlight and clean, crisp city street. Millie pokes at the pudding with disinterest as she noms at her cheese, and Harry knows she’s not long off from subsisting on finger foods. And mess.

“It’s pretty here,” Louis comments absently, digging at his pasta. 

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. He smooths his hand over the back of Millie’s head, rearranging curls. “Lots of bikes.”

“We should get bikes,” Louis says. “And one of those – the pully things, with the ceiling, for Millie. To pull her in on the bike.”

“I wonder when she’ll be ready for a tricycle.” Harry eats a bit more bun and lets Millie drink another sip of smoothie when she whines pitifully, grabbyhands for it. “I guess after she walks.” He glances up at Louis across the table, nibbling at black bread, and wonders when the last time they talked to each other about anything that wasn’t Millie was.

And then, with a stab of uncertainty, if they ever had, really.

“Lou?” Harry asks. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, blinking. “’M alright. You alright?”

“I’m alright,” Harry nods. He looks back down at his vanilla bun and rubs at Millie’s wrinkled, fat knee where it juts out from beneath the lacy hem of her sundress (now splotched with cheese and dribbles of blueberry smoothie).

Millie doesn’t look at him, instead deeply invested in watching the parade down the sidewalk: bicycles of every color; tall, fashionable people, some walking dogs, others carrying shopping bags from H&M and Blossum and Svanströms. 

“Cat!” Millie says clearly, pointing to the beautiful, coppery Golden Retriever trotting up the sidewalk. 

Harry’s head jerks towards her and Louis drops his bread.

“What’d you say, Millie?” Harry asks, putting his hand on her back and leaning close.

“Cat!” Millie repeats, pointing insistently to the dog.

“That’s not a cat,” Louis says worriedly. “Should we be going over animals better?”

“Oh, shut up, Louis,” Harry says, his grin uncontainable. “Say it, again, Millie.”

“Shhhhhou,” Millie says, her lips poking out as she looks at Louis. Harry and Louis share delighted looks – although later, Louis will wonder what it means that Harry’s daughter’s second-ever words, or maybe first-ever sentence, were ‘shut up, Lou,’ – and Millie jabbers at the dog again, chanting, “Cat, cat, cat!”

Harry barks a laugh and Louis throws his arms up in a euphoric cheer as they jump up from their seats and throw their arms around each other. Harry folds his arms tightly around Louis’ shoulders as Louis murmurs, _good job, Dad_ into Harry’s neck, lips moving against Harry’s skin. 

They only pull back when from her perch on the table, Millie bops her fist into Harry’s side impatiently and yowls, “Dayee!”

Harry looks down at her in amazement and lifts her from the bumble seat. “Did you just say ‘daddy’?”

Millie snuggles down into his arms and pats his chin. “Dayee.”

“It’s like she’s known how to talk in secret for ages,” Louis whistles, rubbing Millie’s back. “Millie… say ‘Louis.’”

“You mean ‘Mum.’”

“Shut up!”

“Mup,” Millie chirrups, kicking her legs and twisting to bend back so she can see Louis properly, albeit upside-down. “Mannampaow.”

Louis’ shoulders slump a little, but he kisses Millie’s forehead all the same and the stubble under his chin brushes against her nose, making her giggle and reach curious fingers up to tickle his neck.

“D’you secretly know any other words, Milliebean?” Harry asks, holding her hand close to his heart.

“No!” Millie assures him, shaking her head self-consciously before pushing her face into the side of his neck. Harry doesn’t even mind all of the cheese-slobber rubbing into his skin as he laughs uproariously, bouncing Millie in his arms while Louis jumps around on the sidewalk, yelling, “This baby is a _genius_!” to everyone passing by.

They fly directly from Sweden to Los Angeles at the end of a week to record more tracks, and it’s the first time they’ve flown first class – or for longer than a few hours with Millie. They set up her collapsible playpen in their expansive flight cabin, and Millie crawls around, jabbering happily, for most of the flight. Now that she can say a few words, the competition is on stronger than ever with the rest of the boys – and even Lou and Caroline Watson and Paul – to be her next.

“Millie, acchi, say ‘Zayn’ and I’ll give you this biscuit…” Zayn wheedles, crouching next to the playpen, waving a Biscoff.

“No!” Millie insists, snatching for the biscuit. “Kinnim!”

“Nope,” Zayn says, taking the cookie back and nibbling at the corner. “Not until you say ‘Zayn.’”

Millie looks up in anguish. “Dayee!”

“Zayn, give her the biscuit,” Harry grumbles flatly, not opening his eyes, where he’s resting his head on Louis’ shoulder to doze.

Zayn sighs and breaks off the unbitten half of the biscuit. He hands it to Millie and she noms at it, slobbering between her lips to soften the cookie, before looking up at Zayn with reproachful green eyes and allowing, “Zang.”

Zayn grins and plucks Millie out of the playpen, bouncing her on his hip as she noms at the biscuit and pokes her fingers curiously at his star-shaped earring. “Good job, little acchi. Didja hear that, boys? She got me second.”

Louis’ brow furrows and he looks down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. Even in his sleep, Harry pats Louis’ leg consolingly, then turns and tilts his face a little closer to Louis’ shoulder to block out the light. When they land in Los Angeles, Louis gathers sleeping Millie into his arms while Harry shoulders all of their luggage, and he gently traces the shell of her little ear as he pushes curls out of her face. They’d bought her all kinds of tiny hair clips and pins and hats to keep her fringe out of her eyes, but her wild hair always rejected them by the end of the day.

“I sure do love you, little bean,” Louis whispers, rubbing her back in circles. “I wish you’d say my name.”

“Mup,” Millie mumbles, scrabbling slowly to hoist herself higher against his chest so she could spider her fingers over his sternum, four and back, four and back, thumping her fingertips to the beat of his heart beneath her cheek. “Ammbo.”

“Okay,” Louis whispers back. He kisses her head, and jogs off to catch up with the others climbing into a black van to take them to their hotel.

A few days later, when Millie is restless and cranky while Harry and Louis are both recording, Niall offers to take her for a stroll in her pram up to the Carroll Canal, and when they return, Millie’s hat is missing, but she can say _Nayyo!_ and Niall is all smiles.

Louis goes out that night, slipping out of their shared hotel room, and is deposited back at the hotel later by an unamused off-duty LAPD cop who found Louis – underage in the United States – drinking Cuervo margaritas and sitting on the lap of a man twice his age at the Roosterfish bar at closing time, looking a little wobbly on his unsteady feet. Louis just hums and smiles, his eyes rolling and flat blue and empty-happy, pupils tiny as Paul thanks the policeman and slips dollar bills into his hand, and Harry steers Louis by the shoulders back into their shared hotel room.

Louis’ limbs are loose and easy as Harry pushes him down onto his mattress and Louis giggles, reaching up to pet at Harry’s chest.

“Ooh, Harold, didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Shut up, Louis,” Harry snaps. “Go to sleep.”

“But everything feels so pretty,” Louis whines, still giggling. He sits up and rubs the side of his face along Harry’s chest and Harry balks, awkward, stumbling back from the bed. Harry sighs and rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, casting a wary eye to Millie to make sure she’s still sleeping, but steps back up to Louis and pushes him down flat again.

“C’mon, Lou, sober up and sleep, _please_?” Harry begs. “It’s like – you’re scaring me a bit. Just, let’s get your trousers off so you can sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Louis chants quietly, lying back and biting his lip, neck craning as he watches Harry through lowered eyelids. His manic eyes are almost flat blue, pupilless and strange, as Harry knees his way up the small bed.

Harry tries to be quick and deft and clinical as he undoes the buttons of Louis’ fly, tries to ignore that Louis is wanton and pawing at him and hard as _fuck_ , but Louis is writhing and his hips are bucking up against Harry’s hands, Louis chanting under his breath all the way, and he keeps reaching up to trace his thumbs over Harry’s jaw and stare at him with unseeing amazement. Harry finally gets frustrated with Louis’ rustling and sits over his thighs to keep him still, unbuttoning down the fly and cursing Topman for putting so many buttons of their skinny jeans; his fingers keep bumping up against Louis’ cock because Louis won’t stop rubbing his hips under Harry’s weight and hissing –

And then the fabric between the buttons is wet, and Louis’ come is on Harry’s fingertips, and Louis’ blue eyes look terrified and Harry has no idea what to do.

“So-sorry, Harry, Harry, Harry, _Harry_ , I’m sorry – I’m sorry – I’m s-sorry, sorry – ”

“It’s okay,” Harry mumbles back. He smiles encouragingly at red-faced, shaky Louis. “Come on, let’s get these off and you can sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Louis lies back on the mattress and doesn’t move, still mumbling that he’s _sorry, sorry, so sorry, Harry, Harry, Harry, sorry, sorry_ and looking small and helpless as Harry finishes unbuttoning the godforsaken fly and slides the jeans down Louis’ legs. He lets them stay where they land, crumpled on the floor, and just pats Louis’ hip before he stands and pulls the blankets over Louis.

“Sleep,” Harry says, soft and insistent. “D’you need water? Or paracetamol?”

Louis shakes his head timidly, and Harry nods. 

“Good night, Lou.”

When Louis wakes, Harry is already showered and dressed, his curls fluffed up and mostly dry, with Millie pulling at her Alfalfa ponytail in displeasure from her seat on Harry’s hip. 

“Morning,” Louis croaks, massaging his temples.

“G’morning,” Harry replies warily, staring at Louis even as he absently pulls Millie’s hands away from where she’s messing with her hair. “How are you feeling?”

The previous night rushes back to Louis all at once and he wants to crawl inside the pillowcase in shame and embarrassment. “Good, yeah. Fine. Well, not good, but. Fine. I feel fine. Thanks.”

“Good,” Harry said. “You missed breakfast, erm, and lunch. I can order you room service or something if you want while you shower? If you want to shower, I mean.”

Louis swallows. “Yeah, I want to shower. Thanks. Erm… something with eggs, maybe?”

“Yeah, if they’ll do eggs in the afternoon,” Harry says. “Sure. Millie can you say ‘egg’?”

“No,” Millie shrugs, shaking her head.

“Can you say ‘Louis’?” Harry tries hesitantly.

“Mup,” Millie chirps, eyes wide and proud. 

Louis slinks out of bed and slumps to the bathroom in his sticky briefs, ready to wash the whole debacle of the day before away from him.

By the time they leave Los Angeles, Millie has sharpened her ‘Dayee’ to a clear ‘Daddy’ and can say ‘Lim’ and ‘food!’ along with her names for Niall and Zayn. She can even, to Louis’ confused heartbreak, grin at Lou Teasdale and say ‘Lou!’ while patting Lou’s pregnant belly with great interest. But when anyone asks her to say Louis, she just smiles and chirrups a nonsense sound, looking proud all the while like she’s got it just right.

On the plane home to London, Louis tries coaching her, sitting alongside her playpen on the floor of the cabin.

Louis claps his hands and touches palms with Millie in a gentle pattycake. “Why can she say everyone’s name but mine?”

Harry shrugs and turns down the corner of his page in _The Subterraneans_. He’s more than forgiven Louis for his Terrible Night Out, as Harry calls it in his head, capitals included, but he doesn’t think Louis’ forgiven _himself_ , since he’s barely spoken to Harry since then. “Well, Mum – ”

“Shut up!”

“Mup!”

“Maybe it’s confusing that you’re Louis and you’re Lou and you’re Tommo, you know? We should just call you Mum – ”

“Shut up!”

“Mup, mup, mup,” Millie repeats, happily clapping her hands against Louis’. “Gaow! Daddy! Mup!”

Her eyes shine expectantly at Louis, so he tries a small smile and then smiles for real after Millie flops herself down onto her back to kick her legs in the air and roll around a little with pride. Once she’s tired herself out, Louis helps her sit back up again and kisses her forehead. 

“Oh, you silly little bean,” he sighs. “I wish I knew what was happening in your head.”

“No,” Millie explains, patting his wrist.

Louis chuckles. “No? Nothing’s happening in your head?”

“No!” Millie laughs uproariously, like she’s just told the best joke that’s ever been told. She crawls up closer to Louis and pushes her face into his neck. “Muppie gaow.”

“Okay, goofy bean,” Louis assents, rubbing her back. “Muppie gaow.”

Millie blinks up at him, long eyelashes like black butterfly wings, and sucks on her fingers. Louis lifts her out of the playpen and carries her back to his seat across the aisle from Harry, letting Millie burrow down into his chest and hum little babbling songs until she falls asleep.

•••

July passes in a craze of promotion for their upcoming single and a trip out to Los Angeles again to film the video. This time, they leave Millie in Holmes Chapel with Anne, and as the boys are leaving and running back to kiss Millie’s face all over and turn to leave again and running back for more kisses to her tear-wet round cheeks, Jay and all of Louis’ sisters pull into the drive in their minivan to have a visit with Anne and Gemma and Millie and to get their own last hugs from Louis.

Daisy bounces up into Louis’ arms while Phoebe suctions her arms around his waist. “We never see you anymore,” she murmurs sadly into Louis ear.

“I forgot how to hug you, even,” Phoebe adds, squeezing Louis tighter.

Louis hugs Daisy back, holding her aloft, and pats Phoebe’s head consolingly with his free hand. “Oh, my little peas-in-a-pod. I’ve missed you! You’re getting so big!”

“Girls grow faster than boys,” Daisy explains, nearly choking Louis with her tight hug.

“That’s what Mum says when Fizzy complains about Xander,” Phoebe finishes as her sharp little chin digs into Louis’ spleen.

Harry, up at the top of the stairs, rubs Millie’s back and presses more little kisses to her forehead and cheeks and nose. He rubs his nose against hers and whispers, “Don’t grow too big while we’re gone, alright, little bean?”

“No,” Millie whimpers, her hands petting Harry’s face. “No, Daddy… gaow mup no, no.”

“I wish I knew what you thought you were saying when you say that,” Harry admits, stroking curls out of Millie’s face. “What does ‘mup’ mean, you silly little thing?”

“Mup… mup,” Millie explains tearfully, and wriggles in his arms, reaching out desperately for Louis. “Allabopaow-ow.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees. “You can give Louis more kisses if Daisy and Phoebe will let you.”

Harry carries clingy Millie over to Louis and the knot of DaisyAndPhoebe. “Little bean wants one more kiss before we go.”

“Peas, can Millie get a cuddle from me?”

Daisy and Phoebe exchange a look, and slowly as one unit climb down from their hold on Louis. “Yes. Can we play with her while you’re in Los Angeles, Harry?”

“We’ll be careful,” Daisy adds. “But she’s bigger now and can play, right?”

“We won’t give her weird food,” Phoebe adds. “Not even lemons.”

“Okay,” Harry says, chuckling, as Louis takes Millie out of his arms and Millie clings onto Louis, kicking her legs.

“Millie,” Louis murmurs, tickling his nose against the side of her head, “Can you say ‘Louis,’ please? Just once before we go?”

“Mup,” Millie chirps. She pats his face, giggling at the prickle of his beard stubble against her fingertips. “Blblblblblbl, ganobo Daddy, Muppie.”

Louis sighs and kisses her head. “I don’t know what any of that means, little goofy bean. I do love you and I’ll miss you. Be good for your grandmas – Grandma Anne, I mean, and my mum, be good for them.”

“Gogogo,” Millie chants, reaching still as Anne plucks her out of Louis arms and Harry slips his hand onto Louis’ back to lead them both to the waiting van. “No, no, no!”

Harry hesitates, but Louis chivvies him out to the van; Harry looks glum when they climb inside, but Louis pats his knee consolingly.

“It’ll be okay, H. We’re only gone a little more than a week.”

“I know,” Harry says, leaning his head against the window as they speed away down the M40. “She’s just growing so fast I don’t want to miss anything.”

“You never want to miss anything,” Louis chuckles. “That’s what makes you a good dad. On the plus side, maybe she’ll figure out my name’s ‘Louis’ by the time we get back.”

She doesn’t, instead rushing over to them in a new wheelie toddle-chair on her tippy toes, squealing “Daddy! Daddy, Daddy, mup! Mine, mine, mine!”

“I see she’s learnt ‘mine,’ then,” Harry laughs, lifting her out of the chair. He bounces her joyfully in his arms and Millie shrieks, grabbing happily at Harry’s curls and grinning, drooly, through her five teeth. “I _am_ yours, aren’t I, little beautiful bean? _Your_ daddy. Yes, yes.” He brings her in close to his chest and cuddles her close, rocking her like she’s still tiny. “And you’re my little baby Milliebean.”

Louis smiles at them wistfully as Jay give him a tight hug and a kiss; he wishes that it were so easy for him to say he _is_ Millie’s and Harry’s and they’re his, but they aren’t, really. Even as Millie twists around and reaches for him and yells, “Mup! Mine! Mine, mine!” and works her fingers at him so he’ll go over and kiss her face hello, Louis feels separate. She’s even learned ‘mine’ before his name.

“Harry?” Anne asks softly, “Can I talk to you a moment in the kitchen?”

Harry’s brow furrows, but he gives Millie a last kiss on her head and passes her to Louis, who tosses her in the air to make her shriek and catches her again before giving her a cuddle.

“What’s up, Mum?” Harry asks, rubbing his chest where his heart is pounding. 

Was he doing something wrong with Millie?

Did Jay tell Anne that Louis wanted to move out?

“While you were gone, I took to see your old doctor, Dr. Mukhurgee, do you remember?”

Harry nods. “Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing, sweetheart,” Anne assures him, scrubbing her hand over his shoulder, “But I did notice that she’s still not using her legs when she crawls. She kicks, often, so we know her muscles are developing, but I did worry that something might be wrong with her hips or her knees, since – well, you know you had that problem with being pigeon-toed as a kid, and she _was_ born quite early.”

“I grew out of that!” Harry protests. “Mostly.”

“And most kids do,” Anne promises. “But I wanted to get her checked out. She’s alright, but she does need to be encouraged more often to bear weight on her legs. So Jay and I bought her that toddle-chair, and you should try to encourage her to use that more than she’s crawling. You’ve got to watch her in it, because she’ll tip herself over just to get out, but mostly she seems pleased with it.”

“Is it bad if she’s pigeon-toed?” Harry asks, and he wipes his hands over his thighs, biting his lip.

“Not normally, no,” Anne says. “She’s probably just developing her walking a bit slowly, which is common in kids who talk so much so young. You were like that, sweetheart. And Louis was the opposite, Jay says, he walked for ages before he started talking at all.”

Harry nods, his heart still hammering in his chest. “What can I do to help her?”

“Do you know anywhere that she could take baby ballet classes? Or just tumbling or stretching or general movement?” Anne asks. “That could be good, and she’d meet other babies her age and other girls. You and Louis are doing a wonderful job with her, but she’s really blossomed so happily being around Louis’ sisters and Gemma the last few days. All girl attention.”

“She knows Hannah,” Harry hedges, “And Lou Teasdale. And Lou’s having a girl, so Millie will have a friend.”

“Doesn’t Liam’s girlfriend dance?” Anne asks carefully, looking innocently at him. “You could ask her to do some movement classes with Millie.”

Harry lowers his eyebrows. “You’ve already called Danielle and set something up, haven’t you?”

“Maybe a little?” Anne says, and they both laugh. Anne gives Harry a tight hug around his shoulders and pulls back just long enough to kiss his forehead the way he does Millie. “I just love you so much, and Millie, too, and Louis because he makes you both so happy. I wanted to help.” She crosses the the counter and pulls up a small pink bag. “And… I may have bought Millie a little outfit to wear in her classes, because she just looked so darling; look, a little black leotard and blue tights and a red tutu, she’s so cute.”

“She’s like a Union Jack disaster,” Harry laughs. “Mum, even I know that doesn’t match.”

“What’s up?” Louis asks, coming into the kitchen with one arm around Jay and the other holding Millie to his hip. “Oh, a little tutu! That’s darling!”

“I told you,” Anne says primly to Harry, and Harry facepalms.

They stay in Holmes Chapel for the night and the Styleses and Tomlinsons share a raucous meal that Harry and Louis bring in from Cinnamon Lounge. Daisy and Phoebe share something mild and creamy with peas and potatoes and aubergine, and despite promising not to give Millie any grown-up foods, Harry catches them slipping her spoonfuls of Shahi masala that turn into messy handfuls of crushed pea and coconut all over Millie’s face and dress.

“Mmm!” Millie hums, munching on the peas. “Mine!”

Harry sighs, but gives her a few cubes of his soft paneer cheese. “You’re spoiled, you know, little bean.”

“Mine,” Millie yowls, grabbing at his fork. “Anomozoo.”

“Yeah, spoiled,” Harry repeats, smoothing her flyaway hair out of her face. Millie takes a bite of cheese and gnashes her teeth at Harry in victory, face dripping with orange curry.

That night, all three of them sleep in Harry’s tiny old bedroom, Millie in a little cot rigged up in her playpen in the corner and Louis and Harry sharing a bed, the way they used to in the X Factor House – but they don’t cuddle, exactly. They just lie beside each other, staring up at how dark the ceiling is out in the countryside.

“The doctor’s worried Millie’s hips aren’t right and that’s why she doesn’t crawl with her legs,” Harry explains finally, still looking up through the dark. “That’s why our mums plotted to have her do ballet with Danielle.”

“Can you do ballet if you can’t walk?” Louis asks.

Harry shrugs, and their bare shoulders brush beneath the sheets. “I guess there’s like a baby kind.” Harry swallows. “I had some trouble walking as a kid. Millie might be the same.”

“She’s alright,” Louis says confidently. “You’d know if something were really wrong.”

Harry’s quiet for a while, listening to Millie rustling in her cot, sucking at a dummy, and Louis breathing beside him. “Lou? What did you take that night in LA?”

It takes a long time for Louis to answer. “I don’t know. Something blue.”

“D’you – do that a lot?” Harry asks. “When you go out?”

Louis rolls away from him and the faint moonlight peering through the window reflects off his brown back and shoulders. “Not a _lot_. It’s not like I’m shooting things up or anything. I just take pills.”

“Louis,” Harry murmurs seriously, “If – you take something that… if you’re not in control of yourself… you can’t come home. Not with a baby in the flat. You’ve got to be safe for her.”

Louis bites his lips and nods. “I know. I’m – really sorry, Harry.”

“I don’t blame you,” Harry says. He rolls over, too, and scoots closer to Louis so he can wrap his arm around Louis’ waist under the blankets, smudging his face along the nape of Louis’ neck and breathing him in. “It’s really hard right now… to be us. I mean, it’s hard to be me, so I – guess I imagine it’s hard to be you.”

“You were right, you know,” Louis whispers. “After Elisa, when you said that – me and Hannah are lying. You were right. And it is hard, and it’s unfair. I just need to forget sometimes.”

“I can understand that.”

“I’m – broke things off with her,” Louis stammers. “Or something. In LA, when you were… you went off with Madison and Zayn was off getting yelled at by Rebecca on the phone and Niall was somewhere and Liam was sexting with Danielle or something, I – was talking to one of the other models, the girls in the video, you know, Alli or something, and she helped me decide, like. She pretended to date one of the Jonas Brothers or something and I guess it ended up really hurting her, so I – I called Hannah and told her that she didn’t need to do that for me anymore, ‘cause I didn’t want to hurt her. And… I guess it was a bit too late for that. But now she knows she can date whoever she wants.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbles. He rubs his cheekbone along the back of Louis’ shoulder. “But that’s good, yeah? Are you – are you gonna date whoever you want, then?”

“No,” Louis whispers. “I’m just gonna be… ‘single’ for a bit. And see how people take that.”

“Oh.” Harry nods. “Okay.” He tucks the side of his face against the flat of Louis’ back and gives him a little squeeze, just to say _I support no matter what and I just want you to be happy; talk to me, please?_

“Um, tomorrow – ” Louis starts, “Tomorrow, I’m erm, I’m going to Doncaster with my mum and sisters for the rest of the weekend. Are you alright getting Millie and the stuff home by yourself?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, feeling a little empty. “I can do that myself.” He pauses. “Are you upset with me?”

“No!” Louis says quickly, “No, no. I’m just – miss my mum and home and want to make sure my girls are alright without any men in the house.”

“I’m sure they are,” Harry says. “I think Daisy and Phoebe could take down a terrorist if they put their mind to it. They’re like a four-armed tornado.”

“How many arms does a normal tornado have?” Louis asks, a smile in his voice.

“Normal tornados have two legs,” Harry answers seriously. “Haven’t you seen _The Wizard of Oz_?”

“You’re an idiot,” Louis says fondly, patting Harry’s hand.

Harry nods and his curls tickle the back of Louis’ neck. “Bean’ll miss you.”

“Yeah,” Louis murmurs. “I just… got to give my other girls some attention. Bean is yours, but… without Mark there, my sisters are mine, you know?”

“Yeah.” Harry squeezes him again. “I understand.” They fall quiet, and Harry inches his way a little closer to Louis, so they’re pressed together all down Harry’s front and Louis’ back, warm skin tucked together and warm flannel pajama-legs slotted. Millie, across the room, gives a little grunt as she rolls over in her sleep, and somewhere out in the fields there’s a lowing from one cow – maybe the one that, what feels like a thousand years before but really, was only a year, they’d thought was an axe-murderer come to kill them all just as their lives were starting.

“She does love you so much,” Harry whispers finally, “Even if she’s not yours.”

But Louis doesn’t answer. He’s fallen asleep.

They all have breakfast together before the Tomlinsons head off to Doncaster and the Styleses go back to London; Jay bakes sweet rolls so delicious and sticky that Millie needs a bath before they can leave, and Anne makes coddled eggs that the twins declare are the only eggs they’ll ever eat again for the rest of their lives. While Harry washes Millie upstairs, singing their newly announced single – “What Makes You Beautiful” – to her, Anne gives Louis a tight hug and murmurs, _take care of my babies, won’t you? And take care of yourself_.

Robin and Gemma come along to London to help Harry haul all of Millie’s sundry belongings and all of his luggage and, of course, wriggly Millie herself, chewing on a teething ring shaped like a lizard, back to the flat. They stay the night in a nearby hotel and photos are taken of them walking up to the park to let Millie zoom around in her toddle-chair out on the warm grass; the paparazzo yells rude questions about whether Gemma is Millie’s mother until finally Harry gets pissed off and yells, “She’s my fucking _sister_ , dude!”

And he knows that his face, looking stormy as he holds Millie’s chunky hands and she experimentally stomps at the grass, will be a headline somewhere. 

When Louis comes home, it’s hours earlier than he’d originally told Harry. His sisters were happy to see him, but Doncaster wasn’t falling apart without him like he’d feared. And he’d forgotten just how _loud_ his house could be, thin walls and four girls running around and always some sort of pet that didn’t seem to make sense that would get lost behind someone’s bookcase (this weekend, a rat called Elmira). So he kisses his mum on the cheek after breakfast tea and gets on the train back to London.

Back at their gated, quiet flat, Louis opens the door and Millie races over in her little toddle-chair.

“Hello, Miss Millie,” Louis coos. He sets his bags down in the entryway. “Did you miss me? Can you say my name yet?”

“Mup!” Millie shrieks, wriggling and pink and overexcited. She raises her arms and bounces on her little toes. “Mup!”

Louis narrows his eyes and closes the door before crouching down to Millie’s eye level. He points at his chest. “Who am I, Milliebean?”

“Mup!” she repeats again, and scoots forward until she can tip herself into his arms. “Mine Mup. Mup, Mup, Mup!”

“I’m Mup?” Louis asks, lifting her out of the chair and tossing her in the air once to make her shriek and kick. “Is that my name?”

“Mup!”

Harry comes out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on an apron tied around his waist. “You’re home already! Why’d you come back?”

“Eh, Fizzy lost a rat somewhere in the house and I got a unnerved,” Louis admits. “I don’t love rats.”

“Me, neither,” Harry agrees, shuddering. “Mice are okay.”

“Mice are okay,” Louis assents. “Hang on, I want to do an experiment.” He shifts Millie into his arm and points to Harry. “Millie? Who’s that?”

“Daddy!”

“Good! And,” he points to his chest again. “Who am I?”

“Mup!”

“Well, I guess there we have it,” Harry says. “She’s calling you ‘mup.’”

“I wonder where she got that,” Louis says.

“I think it’s half-‘mum’… and half-‘shut up,’” Harry says slowly, the realization dawning in his eyes. “Oh, no.”

“Well,” Louis sighs. “That’s alright. I can be a ‘mup.’” He tosses Millie in the air again and catches her, sweeping her low to the floor in a fancy ballroom dip. “Can’t I, little bean? I can be both ‘mum’ and ‘shut up.’”

Millie giggles and crinkles her nose. “Mine!”

Louis lifts her up close so he can kiss his nose against hers. “Yeah, I am yours, little silly beanface.”

•••

Things are quiet for a while after that. Louis goes out sometimes at night and doesn’t come home; once, he’s gone two nights in a row and just when Harry’s picked up the phone to give Jay a panicked call, Louis breezes through the door with Stan, hangs his arms from Harry’s shoulders, and tells him that they spent the weekend in Ibiza and _it was so sick, Harry, you_ have _to go sometime when Millie’s older_.

“You weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere?” Harry asks coolly, shrugging Louis off.

He has the decency to look chastened. “Sorry, H. I – didn’t think.”

“We were bit past thinking,” Stan confides. “And with that… I’m going to go sleep in your bathtub. Excuse me, lads.”

Stan stays for almost a week, and it’s useful to have another set of hands around now that Millie has her toddle-chair to cruise in. She talks constantly in an endless stream of chatter that’s only 12% real, understandable words, and constantly begs for more food. Harry takes to leaving little baskets of the free finger foods companies are sending them to plead for endorsement deals – Munchy Fingers, Crispy Rings, Oaty Chomps – and plates of fruit out on the lower rungs of endtables and low-hanging shelves at Millie’s eye level so she has the incentive to propel herself across the room, which works, but now there are constantly crumbs and crushed pieces of banana and grape underfoot. 

They send Stan to pick up lunch one day while Louis gives Millie a bath and Harry vacuums the living room, again, and he comes back with three cheap pairs of plastic sandals.

“I’m sick of my socks getting ruined,” he explains, handing a pair to Louis and a pair to Harry. “This can be the guest pair once I leave.”

Harry sighs and bangs his head once against the wall, resting there. Millie laughs and happily throws a piece of peach on the clean floor.

“This plan was flawed,” Harry mutters.

“Maybe,” Louis agrees, lifting Millie out of the toddle-chair and setting her down on the floor to see if she’ll crawl properly. She doesn’t, and instead walrus-drags herself across the room with surprising speed to pick a bit of Spelt & Raspberry Munch Finger out of the crevice of the couch and eat it. “But she’s happy?”

Louis and Stan leave on one more whirlwind, one-night rockstar trip – out to Magaluf, in Spain, this time; they go to a foam party at BCM Planet Dance and when Louis comes home, he leaves a trail of glitter behind him shedding from his clothes and hair like snakeskin. He sleeps most of the afternoon away, and wakes in the evening just as Harry is fixing spaghetti for dinner, cutting the pieces small so Millie can try some, too.

“I feel properly wrecked,” Louis groans, sliding into his seat at the table. “Can I have a very, very large glass of water and a very, very large paracetamol?”

Harry sets them down wordlessly in front of Louis, and Millie toddles over to him and pets his knee consolingly, gumming against the edge of his shorts like that might help.

“Quiet night at home?” Harry offers, lifting Millie up and into her new high chair. 

“Yes, please.” Louis gives him a grateful smile, and Harry ruffles Louis’ hair gently before dolloping spaghetti Bolognese and two pieces of toast onto his plate.

Just past ten o’clock, strange sounds begin to float in through the windows. There’s a rolling chorus of shouting, which isn’t particularly out of place for a Saturday night, but siren after siren chases after them.

“Must be some accident,” Louis comments idly. He rubs his eyes and doesn’t even look up from his cereal.

Harry grunts and keeps flipping through the battered copy of _Slaughterhouse-Five_ Zayn had loaned him. As long as the sirens don’t wake Millie, he doesn’t much care what’s happening to the drunks littering the street on their way to clubs. There’s always at least one police car that races through on a weekend night. 

Half an hour later, though, the sirens haven’t stopped and the yelling has become a chant, and Louis stands up to peer out of the windows. “Holy fuck,” he breathes, “Harry, c’mere. Something’s on fire.”

Harry’s knees creak as he stands and goes over to look out the window, too, and the sky is orange. There are crowds running up and down the street below waving bats and bottles, and across the road, windows are lighting one-by-one as curious lookers-on like Harry and Louis try to see what’s happening. 

“What’s burning, d’you think?” Harry asks in a hushed voice. 

“Can’t tell,” Louis says. “It’s out towards the reservoirs, I think. Maybe a forest fire? Holiday campers gone mad?”

“That’s too far for us to see,” Harry argues. “And what’s all the running and yelling, then?”

“You’re asking me like I know,” Louis grumps, but Harry knows him well enough to know that if Louis is snappish, it means he’s unsettled. They’re both quiet for a moment before Louis says, “Seems like the crowd’s getting louder, doesn’t it?”

As if in answer, just below them at the bottom of their block, a car explodes into flame and there’s a raucous cheer up and down the road.

“Holy shit!” Louis covers his mouth with both hands and looks to Harry with wide eyes. 

“I don’t think it’s a forest fire, Lou,” Harry mutters. The sound of breaking glass floats up to their windows and the car burning below hisses in warning.

Millie wails from her bedroom at all the noise, but Harry feels dazed as he picks her up and bounces her on his hip, shushing absently, before he rejoins Louis at the window. A second car is on fire on the block below – this one closer to their gated building, and Harry’s never been so grateful that they can afford those big gates. Millie whimpers sleepily and buries her face into Harry’s chest. 

Louis’ phone rings and they all startle.

“Lads, what the fuck is happening outside?” Niall greets them. “Looks like a war’s on.”

“No idea,” Louis says. “We’re just sat watching from the window.”

“If it’s all the same to you – well I don’t feel like being alone in here, seeing as I’m on the ground floor,” Niall hedges. “Can I come up?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says, peering out the window, “Bring Liam and Zayn too if they feel like.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Niall says quickly as the runners draw closer to their building and there’s a mighty crash as a car flips just outside. “See you in a mo.”

Louis clutches the phone even after Niall hangs up, as though the piece of plastic is a comfort, like a teddy bear or a lifeline. His knuckles are white, and outside the city is burning, and Harry can’t help it but to reach out and wrap his own hand around Louis’, holding tight, Millie held close between them. Fireworks burst up into the sky and Millie whimpers fiercely, pushing her face insistently into Harry’s chest. 

Following the fireworks is the unmistakable sound of a massive explosion somewhere up near High Road, and even the floor of their penthouse apartment shakes beneath their feet. Just a little. Just enough to let them know that they aren’t really safe, even with their new millions and their big gates. The cheer rising up to their windows tells them the rest.

“What’s happened?” Harry asks Louis.

Louis thinks that Harry’s big, green eyes in this moment are as wide and naïve as his daughter’s, and Anne’s lighthearted words – _take care of my babies_ – come back at him like a mocking curse. “I really don’t know.”

There’s a pounding on their door and they both jump, but Niall’s voice yells, “It’s just us, lads, let us in!”

It takes a moment before Harry lets go of Louis’ hand and lets him go answer the door. When Louis is across the room, Harry’s hand feels strangely empty, so he busies himself with cupping the back of Millie’s head and murmuring soothing noises into her ears as she tucks her hand into the neck of his shirt to measure his pulse with her small fingers.

As soon as the other boys are inside the apartment, Louis locks the door with a decisive click and slides all of the deadbolts and chains shut. They usually don’t. All of the boys have keys to each other’s places, and for better or worse, it’s a useful one-stop for things like milk and toilet paper and teabags. But tonight, despite the gates, they need locks. They need locks and to be all together, the six of them – five boys new to London and a little girl still new to the world – because they hadn’t expected any of this. Not to live in a gated complex in London, and not to see their street burning down.

“I’ll make tea,” Niall says just after he’s toed out of his shoes. He pads to the kitchen and pats Harry’s shoulder on the way. Liam and Louis sink onto the sofa, but Zayn joins Harry and Millie at the windows.

“D’you want me to take her, Harry?” Zayn asks. “Just so you can call your mum or summat. If it’s not sorted by morning you might want to take her up to Holmes Chapel until it’s out.”

Millie turns her head at the sound of Zayn’s voice and reaches out for him, lower lip quivering. “Zang!”

“Yeah, you can take her,” Harry says. Zayn settles Millie into his arms and gives her a warm smile, booping her nose, and Harry shakes out his curls to sweep them out of his eyes. Nervous habit. They stand two at the window and two seated on the sofa, all quiet, and when Niall comes out with the tea, he sits alone on the floor by the coffee table. 

Another explosion rockets outside their windows and when Zayn and Harry look down –

“Shit, that’s a cop car,” Harry says needlessly. “This is bad.”

“Let’s wait out the night,” Zayn advises. “See what happens. Could resolve itself, right? I mean, we’re in London. It’s the capital. There’s gotta be loads of police and stuff here for these things.”

“Um,” Liam pipes up from the sofa, “Oh. Only – um, the Beeb are saying it’s the police that the riot’s against? And – jeez – a double-decker’s been set on fire in Haringey just now.”

“Well, that’s not good,” Louis says flatly. He looks over to Harry. “Do you want to call your mum and try to get Millie out?”

Harry shrugs and looks out the window. A police helicopter is swerves down and flits in and out of smoky clouds over the direction of Tottenham High Road. “I don’t know how we’d get her anywhere with the roads like this.”

“I think we should just sit tight,” Zayn repeats. He bounces Millie a little and moves away from the windows to join Liam on the sofa, baby still sat in his lap while he plays with her hands like pattycake. “Riots burn themselves out soon enough, and we don’t want to get mixed up in. Just stay inside, stay calm. Keep safe.”

“You seem quite sure of yourself,” Louis says tightly. “Who made you the expert on fucking fiery riots in the street?”

“Lived through a few,” Zayn says, shrugging. “Worst when I was eight, but there were some when I was two that I can’t really remember. Just the noise. And Millie won’t even remember that; she’s too small.”

Louis looks slightly abashed, but sips at his tea quietly. Harry finally moves from the windows and sits beside Louis, chewing on his knuckles. 

“Have you really been through – seen this before?” Niall asks from his place on the floor.

“Yeah, my dad’s shop got smashed,” Zayn says shortly. “And a couple of my uncles’ friends got arrested for other stuff. Like throwing bricks and stuff. But a lot of people did. Wasn’t like, just them. It was bad; I remember school was cancelled three days.”

“Do you think this will last three days?” Harry asks, reaching across Louis and Liam to rub his hand over Millie’s back.

Zayn shrugs. “Don’t know. But we got four flats’ worth of food, so we’re alright. If it’s still bad in the morning, though, you ought to call your mum and see if there’s a way to get Mills out of the city.” He smiles wryly and bounces Millie on his knee. “It’s pretty much the only time I got to travel as a kid. Me and Doniya and Waliyha got to stay with my mum’s cousin in Huddersfield for a night. Almost as exciting as Holmes Chapel.”

Harry pauses rubbing Millie’s back and looks over at Zayn. “I don’t know you very well, do I?”

Zayn shrugs. “You do well enough. You’ve got dad stuff to do all the time. I understand it.”

More sirens chase down the street outside and the yelling and chanting take them over; there’s a sound of glass breaking. Millie whimpers and Zayn shushes her, cooing something soft in Urdu that makes Millie tilt her head and poke at his mouth curiously.

Harry shakes his head. “I’ll try harder to balance it out. Might be nice to talk about things besides, like, nappies and hip dysplasia and Munchy Fingers sometime, anyhow.”

“That’s your _life_ , Harry,” Zayn says, shrugging and letting Millie tug on his thumbs. “‘Course you’re gonna talk about your life.”

“We don’t expect you to pretend like Millie doesn’t exist when you’re with us,” Liam adds, peeking up from his phone. “You’ve never done, and – we like you anyway.”

“We’re all madly in love with you, Hazza,” Niall says, slinging his arms around Harry’s shoulders. “The internet says so.”

“Were you reading fan-flicks _again_ , Nailfile?” Louis asks, setting his tea down on the coffee table to look around at Niall incredulously.

Niall shrugs. “I was bored.”

“Read a book, Niall!” Zayn groans, dropping his head back against the backrest of the couch. “I can tell you so many books to read.”

“I don’t like books,” Niall says, wrinkling his nose. “There’s not enough drama and explosions in books.” There’s another crash of breaking glass outside and the floor beneath them trembles again. “Although, maybe I don’t like explosions so much after all.”

They all get quiet after that, even Millie in Zayn’s lap, sucking on her fingers and staring up at Zayn with round, curious eyes. Louis brews a second pot of tea, and Niall makes everyone cheese toasties with marmalade, and they pointedly don’t turn on the telly to see the breaking news.

After a bit, Liam asks, “Do you suppose we’re still premiering the single on Wednesday?”

“I think it probably has to do with what’s happening now, Leeyum,” Louis says patiently. “I hope so. I’m reading for us to have a hit single. Elsewise, I'm just going to leave One Direction and join The Wanted.”

There’s a pause, and then Liam, Niall, and Harry dive onto Louis, groaning and pummeling him with pillows, while Zayn holds Millie above the ruckus and shakes his head at her disparagingly.

“Yucky,” Millie comments, patting Zayn’s neck.

“You’re right, Acchi,” Zayn agrees. “They are.”

•••

They do premiere, of course, and pre-orders start pouring in. Their faces are in newspapers. The Sun reports that Louis and Hannah have split up, and show photos of him getting Starbucks on his own with Millie, feeding her bits of cut fruit while he drinks something frothy and covered in whipped cream. Harry hopes that Louis hasn’t read the comments on the article, most of which speculate that he and Hannah finished because Harry and Louis are dating – citing their evidence on things like the color of Louis’ trousers or the cut of his hair, maybe the way he holds his wrists. Harry thinks it’s unfair.

They go up to Ireland to do interviews with RTÉ and 98FM, and they meet Niall’s mum and her partner, Chris, and Niall’s tiny grandmother (who can drink them all, even Louis, under the table). They all fuss over Millie, and when Chris asks, _and you’re raising her together, Harry, Louis?_ they don’t pause to say _yes_. They’re not together in the same way that Maura and Chris peck over Niall and fix his hair and cut his chicken for him, making him grumble, but Harry likes to see the way they move like satellites around each other for him the way he and Louis do for Millie. It’s confirmation, in a way, that she’ll turn out alright.

They get back home to a few free days before their next interview, but there’s something different in the way the paparazzi follow them, the things that get screamed at them trying to get a reaction. When Liam hears a _terrorist_ yelled after Zayn, Louis has to bodily hold him back.

“Liam, stop, that’s what they want,” Louis murmurs. “We’ve got to pick our battles with this kinda shit.”

Later that night, Harry gives Millie a bath and she splashes water everywhere, laughing and fat and happy, and Harry kisses her wet head.

“Things are going good now, little bean, aren’t they?” he asks, washing her wrinkled elbows. “You’re just so happy to have your Mup around more, yeah? And he seems happier too, doesn’t he?” Millie chatters _Mup mine, Daddy mine, blblblbl!_ and reaches for the floating toy stegosaurus. Harry hands it to her and she bites into it viciously, then pulls back and makes a _terrible_ face when she gets soap in her mouth.

Harry barks a broad laugh and can’t help snapping a photo on his iPhone of her wrinkled nose and drawn eyebrows.

“Yucky!”

“I know, sweetiebean,” he sympathizes. “Let’s get you out of there and we’ll go to the kitchen and find something yummy to get the taste out, okay?”

Millie grumbles, still making a face and smacking her lips unhappily, and kicks Harry in the ribs as he lifts her out of the warm tub and dries her with a hooded towel. He changes her into a fresh nappy and light blue onesie, and carries her to the kitchen as she writhes, yelling _bleah!_ and making Harry laugh.

“Lou, I shouldn’t laugh, but – basically she ate soap and you’ve got to see her face, it’s so— ”

Louis’ face looks sickly, pale and tinged in green around his eyes and mouth. He’s sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands; his iPhone rests on the tabletop like a bad omen. The tea kettle is whistling on the counter but it’s as if he doesn’t even hear it. Harry rushes over to switch it off, then sets Millie in her bouncer in the corner and kneels at Louis’ side, one hand rested on the other boy’s thigh and the other rubbing a circle over the small of Louis’ back.

“Lou? What’s wrong?”

Louis swallows. “There’s – Modest called. I fucked up, Harry. I fucked up so bad.”

“What’s happened?” Harry squeezes Louis’ leg.

Louis swallows hard again, and this time there’s a gulp like he’s trying to keep everything down. “There’s a video of me. From Magaluf.”

“Okay,” Harry says slowly. “Are you – drunk in it? Is it drugs?”

“Harry,” Louis whispers. “It’s not drugs in the video. It’s a – there’s _video_. Of _me_. In Magaluf.”

“I got that, I’m just – I’m sorry, I don’t – ”

“ _It’s a sextape, Harry_ ,” Louis snaps, standing up quickly to shake Harry off. He rakes his hands over his mouth and paces across the kitchen. “It’s me and a guy, alright? And it’s _up_ , it’s online. It’s on – I’m on fucking _porn_ sites, Harry, and I can’t fix it, and everyone is going to see me.”

“What – ” Harry is a bit lost for words. “Did you – tell him he could post it?”

“I didn’t even know he took it,” Louis whispers. “I don’t even – I don’t know who he _is_.” He inhales long and shakily and holds it. “But he knows who I am. And he’s asking for a _lot_ of money to keep my name off it. Right now it’s just my face, but – ”

“Well, Syco’ll pay it,” Harry says hurriedly. He stands and goes over to Louis and lays his hand carefully on Louis’ shaking shoulder. “Louis, it’ll be okay.”

“It will not be okay, Harry. Do you know who likes us? Besides teenage girls? Old, gay men. Old gay men who like _twinks_ like me,” Louis spits. “And they’re going to see it and recognize me and _everyone_ is going to – know.” Louis seems to deflate, ribs and shoulders and spine collapsing in on themselves as he slumps. “I never would have – I didn’t know he was taping it. I’d say I feel betrayed, but I don’t know if you can be betrayed by someone whose name you don’t know.”

“Sure you can,” Harry soothes him. He carefully folds Louis into a hug and tucks his chin over the top of Louis’ head. “Louis, you trusted him even if you didn’t know his name, and that’s – what he’s doing is wrong.”

“Yeah, well, he still wins, doesn’t he?” Louis asks. “He gets his money. Maybe he’ll get famous off my face, off – my name. It can’t stay secret forever, can it? He can blackmail _over and over_ with it, just – eventually he’ll ask something Syco can’t pay or… we’ll get dropped from the label and he’ll just name me anyway. I’m a liability.”

“No, you’re not,” Harry says. “Look, if they can deal with me having a _kid_ and turn it into something good – ”

“Well, that’s not having some guy’s dick up your arse, is it?” Louis snaps, pushing out of Harry’s hug again and stalking back over to the counter. He grips the edge so tightly his knuckles turn white. “You’re a cute little guy with a cute little baby and a cute little sob story that’s got a happy ending. Yeah, maybe it’s bad you’re young, but there was never really a worry that people wouldn’t love you, was there? I’m – in that video – I’m just this drunk, drugged out f– ”

“Don’t you even say it,” Harry cuts him off sharply. He puts his hands on Louis’ shoulders again. “Louis, it doesn’t have to be bad. Maybe nothing will even come of it; Syco will pay and it’ll just – it’ll go away, Louis.” He pauses. “Maybe it will be good. You could – you could get a boyfriend, if you wanted.”

Louis looks over his shoulder with something like acid and wrenches away from Harry’s grip. “Don’t touch me, Harry. You’re not helping.”

“Well, what about Hannah?” Harry tries. He slides his hands into his pockets and leans back against the counter to give Louis space. “Just – get photographed with her again or something.”

“She has a _real_ boyfriend now,” Louis mutters. “I can’t do that to her, anyhow. If she’s supposed to be dating me, then she can’t – I’m not going to hold her back from being happy. I never meant to.”

Harry is quiet. Millie pants a little, bouncing in her little rocker, and Harry crosses the kitchen to sit in front of her so she can grab his fingers. She screws up her face and chomps on his thumb determinately and he breathes a quiet laugh, petting the back of her soft head. After a minute, he looks up at Louis.

“Gemma’s got hot friends,” Harry says thoughtfully. “If you’re okay with it, I could – we could tell her what’s up and maybe she’ll know someone?”

“I don’t want to hire a girlfriend,” Louis mutters. “That seems so seedy.”

“So don’t hire a girlfriend, just – make a friend who’s a girl, and then if the papers want to say she’s your girlfriend… don’t contradict them,” Harry says. “Louis, come on, I’m trying to help you and make suggestions, and just – I don’t know what else to say.”

“Fine,” Louis says. “Call Gemma then. I don’t care. I’m going out.”

“Okay,” says Harry. “Are you gonna be home for tea?”

Louis shrugs. “I’ll see you later.”

“Louis?” Harry calls as Louis steps out of the kitchen. “Wait – say goodbye to Millie?”

Louis sighs, but kneels in front of Millie and kisses the top of her head. Millie gurgles a laugh and fists her hands into Louis collar, babbling happily. Her green eyes are clear and bright and full of simple love as she stares up at Louis. “Muppie mine! Gaow!”

His face crumples. 

“Oh, Louis,” Harry whispers. His hand slides over Louis’ back, but Louis’ just carefully disentangles Millie’s fingers from his shirt and stands quickly.

“I’m going,” Louis says thickly. “I’ve gotta – I need some air.”

Harry nods. “If you don’t come home for tea, I’ll put a plate for you in the fridge. Just – go do what makes you happy, okay?”

Louis nods stiffly and scrubs his hands through his hair as he leaves the kitchen. There’s a soft click as the front door locks behind him. 

“Ba!” Millie cries, looking troubled. 

Harry kisses her forehead and lifts her out of the bouncer. Millie wriggles until Harry sets her down, where she wobbles on her tippy-toes until Harry lets her grab onto his thumbs for balance. She stomps her feet with a sort of joyous determination, looking down at the floor like it’s a foreign land that she’s conquering In the Name of Styles, and Harry laughs. 

“Okay, bitty beans, let’s go talk to Auntie Gemma. C’mon, go, walk towards the living room – there you go – keep going – one leg in front of the other – oh, no, you don’t want to walk, do you,” Harry sighs as Millie wriggles herself free and drops down to crawl. Halfway through the door, Harry trips over her as she stops short suddenly to eat a stray rusk off the carpeting.

“Oof,” Harry grunts as he stares upside-down at Millie from the floor.

“Oooh,” Millie agrees. She offers him half of the dusty rusk.

“No, thank you, sweetie,” Harry groans, sitting up. “Come on, don’t eat that. That’s yucky, it was on the floor.”

“Mmmm,” Millie argues happily, munching on the rusk with no small amount of triumph in her eyes.

“Yucky,” Harry chides, but he’s laughing. He swoops her up and carries her the rest of the way over to the couch so he can set up a Skype call to his sister. Millie promptly wriggles off his knee and starts cruising around the living room, scouring the floor for more snacks. Harry studies her carefully, but she still doesn’t use her legs when she crawls, and he sighs.

She finds a shameful amount of dropped Weetabix and Munchy Fingers, and Harry makes a mental note to go over everything with a vacuum cleaner later.

When Skype starts its bubbling sounds, Millie zooms back over and tugs at Harry’s knee, panting.

“You know what that sound means, don’t you?” Harry praises her, lifting her onto his lap. “It means you get to see Gramma Anne and Auntie Gemma, doesn’t it?”

“Jurrrr!” Millie agrees, reaching to the screen. “Mine agowfroppemen.”

Harry catches her little fingers before she can type anything gibberish and kisses her fingertips as he bounces her on his knee. Gemma picks up on the other end, sitting up on her bed propped on pillows in one of Harry’s old HCCS sweatshirts, with a grin on her face and another girl at her side – tall and willowy, with long, softly curled brown hair and a heart-shaped face. She’s pretty, Harry thinks absently, in a common sort of way.

“Hello, little brother!” Gemma greets, a laugh in her voice. “And hello to you, tiny little Miss Millie! How are you?”

“Jurr!” Millie coos back, patting the screen. “Mine!”

“It’s getting closer to saying my name right,” Gemma offers graciously, looking up at Harry. “You look troubled, baby bro. What’s up?”

“Louis’ having a problem,” Harry says carefully, glancing sideways at Gemma’s friend. “Erm – kind of a personal one. But… do you know anyone who might be like, interested in maybe getting to know him and maybe going out a few times in London? A girl, I mean?”

“Is this about what the papers said?” Gemma asks, looking sympathetic and righteously angry all at the same time. “Those fuckers. Ooh! Sorry, Millie!”

“Foo,” Millie agrees, nodding. “Yucky.”

“Oh, dear,” Gemma sighs, and her friend laughs, dropping her head onto Gemma’s shoulder. Gemma kisses her forehead and turns back to the camera. “Is Louis alright?”

“He’s okay,” Harry hedges. “It’s not just the papers, there’s – it’s kind of personal, he can share if he wants, it’s not my – not mine to tell. I’m just asking you if you know’f anyone ‘cause I told Louis I’d see, so he can… find someone he kinda knows, at least, y’know.” He blinks and shakes his head, distracted. “Who’s your – that?”

“Oh.” Gemma smiles and her eyes crinkle at the corners, and Harry hasn’t seen Gemma look like that for anyone before. “You know I mentioned last I was in London that I’m working at that food co-op in Bradwell? Well, that’s halfway between Sheffield and Manchester, so there’s students from all over who are getting credit there. After a bit, I met – this is my girlfriend, Eleanor.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	12. Chapter 12

It’s not as simple as introducing Louis to Eleanor and casually setting up a photo op, the way Hannah had just shown up at the X Factor studios and had a photo or two taken on Louis’ lap and that was that. 

The idea of Louis and Hannah breaking up had to be planted, little kernels of stories about him being seen out alone and looking upset – not a stretch, all things considered – and tweets of assurance between them that they would remain the ‘best, best friends’ to assuage their fans. Contingency plans have to be agreed upon in the case that Gemma and Eleanor break up; Eleanor have to work out together what they are and aren’t willing to be photographed doing together. Compensation and recompense.

There were hundreds of pages of paperwork for both Louis and Eleanor, and Louis’ family, and Gemma, and Harry and Anne and Robin, to read over with lawyers and edit and sign. Nondisclosure agreements, waivers of personal records, new twitter accounts and scrubbing of Facebooks and even camera phones, because leaks happen and can’t be afforded. Harry managed to save two photos of Gemma and Eleanor together from Gemma’s phone before he turned it in to Jones, and he framed them with a cheap plastic frame from Argos – they aren’t even particularly conspicuous, just the two of them together at the food co-op with their arms around each others’ waists, but Jones wiped the digital copies anyway. 

Louis and Eleanor have to take media training meetings together to learn their story, how to play things. They can’t decide how long to say they’ve been seeing each other; Hannah complicates things. Harry suggests they wait six weeks before going public, but start sowing the seeds now: Eleanor’s cousin tweets that she’s seen Louis around; Sugarscape mentions they saw Louis with a brunette at a music festival.

(“That brunet was me!” Stan says, disgruntled, when he drops by their flat for a day trip to try to cheer Louis up.

“Staniel, our love can never be,” Louis intones, stroking Stan’s cheek with the backs of two fingers, gazing on in deep earnest and leaning in closer and closer until Stan whacked him upside the face.)

“So middle of September,” Louis sighs one night, only a week after Magaluf – but a week that feels like a year – when he settles down on the sofa between Harry and Zayn after Millie’s been put down in her crib for the night. “I’ll have a girlfriend. Again. And I stole her from your sister, H; that’s a plot twist.”

“Yeah, Gemma’s not so pleased with you,” Harry says as he closes his eyes and rests his head against Louis’ shoulder. 

Louis looks at his hands. “’S kinda pushed her back into the closet too, hasn’t it? I – it didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay,” Harry mumbles. “She said something about having an excuse to keep Eleanor behind locked doors and I threw up in my mouth a bit.”

“I don’t mind that either,” Zayn says. “Your sister’s hot.”

“So’s his mum,” Louis adds. “I should’ve got your mum to be my girlfriend. Coulda had a cougar vibe on. And then I could be your stepdad, H!”

Harry doesn’t open his eyes, but lifts a throw pillow from the side of the couch and smacks Louis in the face with it. Louis squeaks, affronted, and bops Harry back with another cushion. Harry kicks out, intending for Louis, and connects with Zayn’s ribs instead; the three of them devolve into a messy wrestling match on the floor, grunting and kicking and tickling. Things go too far when Harry pulls Zayn’s hair, and he shoves Harry off rather harder than strictly necessary and grumbles that he’ll see them in the morning.

Once Zayn is gone, Harry and Louis slump against each other on the floor, Harry’s head resting on Louis’ belly. After they’ve caught their breath, Harry props himself up on his elbows and asks, “Lou? What’ve you got on for weekend after next?”

“Nothing, so far as I know,” Louis says absently, yawning, and he reaches out to pet at Harry’s curls. “Why?”

“Well, it was just – ” Harry licks his lip. “Erm, basically, I just… well, I got tickets for Leeds Festival, if you want to go. Two of them. Tickets, I mean. One for you. Erm… I just feel we haven’t had time just us in a long time, like… ever? I guess? And erm… I thought you might want to go.”

Louis holds his breath, and hopes Harry can’t hear his heart pounding so quickly right beneath Harry’s head. “Yeah, sure. That’d be sick. Who’d watch Millie, though?”

“My mum,” Harry says. “I’ve already talked to her. She, erm, well Robin offered us a tent that we can use if you want.”

“Yeah, ace,” Louis says. He winds his hand gently through Harry’s curls again. “We should buy wellies.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “And flasks.”

“We should get an air mattress, too.”

Harry laughs. “Really roughing it.”

“Hey,” Louis protests, “I travel in style or I don’t travel at all.”

“Didn’t you wear green pajama trousers and a purple shirt on your last flight?”

Louis tugs at Harry’s curls, then rolls out from beneath him and lets Harry’s head land on one of the discarded couch pillows; he gathers the condensing beer bottles up in one deft hand and starts off to the kitchen. He speaks over his shoulder: “Told you. Pure style.”

The next morning, they take Millie downtown for an appointment with her doctor to cheek on her hips for crawling; Millie fusses on the tube, pushing despondently at her damp fringe sticking to her face in the August heat and burrowing into the protection of Harry’s arm. 

“I know, baby beans,” Harry murmurs. “But if you’re getting better with your legs, I’ll let you try a Popsicle on the way home.”

“No,” Millie whimpers, pushing at his chest with her free hand. “Food.”

“What kind of food?” Harry asks, gently pushing back her hair and fastening it with one of the panda clips Louis hands him wordlessly out of the baby basket. They’re dimly aware of cell phones snapping their photo from around the traincar, but Harry doesn’t care. “D’you want blueberries?”

“No. Food.”

“Okay… d’you want… spaghetti?”

“No! Food!”

“Erm. D’you want… Munchy Fingers?”

Millie’s face looks stormy and Harry quickly glances to Louis as he begins to bounce her on his knee. “Come on, sweetiebean, what kind of food?”

Millie scowls and flaps her hands, looking to Louis for help translating. “Food! Mup, Daddy, food!”

Louis pulls a face. “Maybe little hot dogs? She liked those the other day.” Millie’s face brightens. Louis smiles at her and pats her fluffy hair. “Is that what you want after the doctor, Mills?”

Millie smiles gratefully at Louis and he has to grin at her sharp little-kid teeth, all gappy and square. “Mice.”

Harry and Louis exchange a look.

“Mice?”

“Mice,” Millie repeats sagely, reaching up to pat each of their faces in turn. She smiles with self-satisfaction and settles back down against Harry’s chest, humming happily. “Mice, mmm.”

Louis leans up to whisper in Harry’s ear. “Does she know something about little hot dogs that the rest of us don’t? I mean, I know they’re a little suspect in the meat department…”

Harry barks a seal’s laugh that makes Millie startle in his lap, and he keeps snorting with laughter until they alight the train near Millie’s specialist’s office. 

Once they’re inside, where everything is cool gray-blue and air conditioned and silent, Harry’s stomach twists again and he rubs Millie’s back, whispering in her ear. “Please use your legs when you crawl today, bean. For me?”

“No,” Millie declares, pushing at his lips. “Bee gogogo.”

“Yeah, you can go, go, go,” Harry encourages. “But you got to use your legs.” He taps at her thigh with his fingertips. “These things, goofybean. They help you go, go, go.”

“No!” Millie insists, and launches herself towards Louis, who catches her under the armpits and pulls her into his lap. 

“Hey, bean,” Louis says thoughtfully. “D’you wanna play while we wait for your turn? Do you see those fun blocks in the corner? Look at that?” Millie looks at Louis skeptically as he sets her down on the floor and slides off his chair to sit beside her. “Let’s go over and look.” Louis gets up on all fours and starts to crawl over to the blocks. “Come on! Let’s play!”

Millie thinks about this for a minute, then tumbles over onto her belly and means to walrus-crawl over. 

Louis blocks her way with his knees. “Like this, bean. Try it.”

Millie frowns. “No.”

“We can all crawl like this,” Louis says meaningfully, looking at Harry, whose gaze seems a bit stuck to Louis waiting on his hands and knees. “Right, Dad? We can all crawl.”

“Oh!” Harry says, shaking his head as if to clear it and trundling down from his chair, too. “We can all crawl like this, Milliebean. Let’s try.”

Millie pushes herself back up to sit, legs splayed out in front of her. “No.”

“Why not, bean?” Harry pleads. “Just try.”

“No!” Millie yowls. “Yucky!”

“Yucky?” Harry asks. “What’s yucky about crawling?”

“Bite,” Millie explains, and pats her knees. “No!”

Harry and Louis exchange a look, still poised to crawl. “Bite?”

“Erm… Styles?” calls the receptionist, looking out over the row of chairs to where Harry and Louis are still on all fours on the floor, Millie looking cross between them. “The doctor can see you now.”

Harry pushes up onto his feet quickly and lifts Millie into his arms, thinks better of it, and tries helping her stand instead, gripping his fingers tightly with both hands for balance. Millie looks down at her feet, up at Harry, over to Louis, down at her feet again, and frowns, picking up one leg and stamping her foot down.

“Gogo,” Millie says, and stamps the same foot again. “Atoonabo no Bee go.”

“You can go, bean,” Harry encourages. “Let’s try walking like this, okay?”

Millie stomps the same foot again, and Harry sighs. Louis gets down on his knees again and, at Millie’s eye level, knee-walks backwards through the swinging door, making silly faces at Millie and cooing to get her to follow him. Her brow stays furrowed tightly between her eyes, but she stomps her way forward, holding tight to Harry’s hands, wobbling on her toes as she tries to make her way to Louis.

The examination room is only a few meters away, but with Millie’s tiny steps and uneven gait, it seems a mile. Millie’s face is just fixing to let loose with an angry yell when Louis’ knees hit linoleum and he grins at Millie, reaching forward to scoop her up around the waist and toss her in the air once. 

“You did it, Millie!” Louis enthuses, catching Millie and kissing her face all over. “You can go, go, go.”

Millie shakes her head and pushes at Louis’ chest. “No. Mup go. Daddy go. Bee no, no.”

Louis sighs and keeps holding her until the doctor comes in and they need to settle her in the seat on the examination table. They check the length of her legs, ankle-to-knee and knee-to-hip; Millie has to flex her ankles and toes and straighten and bend her knees. The doctor turns her over and looks at the wrinkles on the backs of Millie’s thighs for symmetry and Millie whines, _bite no, no, no!_ and Harry shrugs, at a loss for what she means. Her hips aren’t dislocated, they determine, but they still have to carry her up the hall to a therapy room with soft foam floors and lots of colored toys to use as incentive. They set Millie down at the end of a gray track and Harry waits with her while Louis heads over to the other end and selects two foam dinosaurs to play with; when Harry lets her go, Millie walrus-crawls at top-speed across the track and plops herself down in the gap between Louis’ knees to steal the green stegosaurus and chomp down on its neck.

Harry gets weepy and has to excuse himself to the hallway when they rig Millie into an intricate system of harnessing that looks a bit like bungee cords to support her as she walks across the gray track. When he comes back, Louis murmurs, _you alright?_ and Harry shakes his head, tucking his face into Louis’ neck. 

Louis bites his lips and rubs Harry’s back and watches Millie trot across the room, grinning at the way the harness lifts her up between steps like a cross between her toddle-chair and her bouncer at home, and for the first time, Louis notices that her toes point completely inwards towards each other when she stands, rolling onto her littlest toes to propel herself forward.

“Hey,” Louis whispers in Harry’s ear. “She walks like you. I think she’ll be okay. Look.”

Harry swallows and lifts his head. His eyes and lips are red and his nose is splotchy; Louis can’t help wiping away one stray tear from beneath Harry’s eye with the curve of his thumb. 

“She’s okay,” Louis promises. “She _can_ do it, she just doesn’t seem to want to.”

Millie trots over to them, bending her knees to make herself bounce higher, almost skipping. “Daddy! Mice? Now?”

Harry swallows wetly and nods, reaching down to kiss her round cheek. “Sure, little bean. We can get you food soon.”

The doctor looks up and quirks an eyebrow, smirking. “She calls food ‘mice’?”

“She calls little hot dogs ‘mice,’” Harry explains sheepishly. “…We think.”

Millie trots across the track again, singing _Mice! Mmm! Daddy! Go! Muppie! Bee! Gaow tutubow go, no, no!_ and evading the lab assistants’ attempts to catch and unhook her from the harness. Finally Louis runs over and plies her calm with the foam stegosaurus, and he lifts Millie out of the harness and cuddles her close as she chomps on the toy vengefully.

Millie stays fairly calm in Louis’ lap, nuzzling her head against his chest and chewing on the stego’s neck, while the doctor addresses Harry about her test results. She _doesn’t_ have congenital hip dysplasia, but her femurs are twisted inwards, which would cause her knees to bend incorrectly for weight-bearing in a crawl position. She does seem able to bear weight standing without pain, and even enjoy lateral movement in the harness with her skipping and singing, but helping her practice standing, walking, and cruising without relying on her toddle-chair will mean aiding in her sense of balance.

It’s better than Harry expected, if he’s honest, and Louis lets him escape again for a few minutes to have a good cry in the bathroom.

Millie stays quiet and sleepy even as they take her out for lunch and order hot dogs to cut up in small pieces for her to squish in her fists and eat between spoonfuls of rice cereal. She yawns over and over, eyes rolling a little between long blinks, and eventually declares _bazoo, no_ and lays her head down on the tabletop for a nap.

Harry strokes her hair gently as he and Louis finish eating their own lunch, then lifts Millie into his arms to carry her home on the tube.

“D’you know,” Louis whispers thoughtfully, rubbing circles over Millie’s back as they sit on the rocking train, “I think she was trying to tell us about her knees. When she said ‘bite,’ maybe that means ‘ouch’ to her.”

“Maybe,” Harry hedges. “I’m just glad she’s alright. I did walk like her as a small kid and grew out of it, mostly. Though my back hurts all the time.”

Louis smirks at him. “I thought that was from your paper round.”

“It might be!” Harry says defensively, then kisses Millie’s forehead when she stirs, blinking up at him with huge green eyes. 

Millie reaches up sleepily to pat Harry’s lips with her sticky palm. “No.”

It’s Louis’ turn to burst into laughter this time, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he leans over to kiss Millie’s head with a _nice one, little bean_.

•••

Louis kicks back in the tent they’ve set up on the fairground in Leeds, his legs sticking out in front of him over the top of his blue sleeping bag, feet bare and toes wriggling. He looks up at the orange canvas tent ceiling. “Nice digs.” He glances at Harry lounging on his side on his own sleeping bag and pouring vodka into a flask. “This, erm – you didn’t make Millie in this tent, did you?”

Harry looks up and vodka splashes over his thumb. “What? No! That was, the camping was months before Millie’d’ve been – been.”

Louis studies Harry’s red face carefully. “How did that come about? I mean, obviously I get that you like, whatever, but… she had a boyfriend who wasn’t you, but you were fucking for months? I don’t get it.”

“I mean, that’s it, basically,” Harry says, shrugging, as he studies the flask very intently. “There’s not so much to get. It was just one of those – like, animal magnetism.”

“Okay, Ron Weasley,” Louis snorts. Harry looks up and smirks once, his cheek dimpling, before he passes the flask to Louis. “Have you, um, talked to her? Since the House?”

“No. She asked me not to and I respect her and all, so… no.” Harry shrugs. “I don’t know what I’d say to her, anyway, now. I’m pretty sure it’s all been said, basically.” He rolls onto his back and fishes the schedule out of his pack, then turns his head to look at Louis. “D’you want to go see Rise Against?”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “What’s on the other stage?”

“Erm…” Harry traces across with his finger. “Noah & the Whale? Or there’s The Horrors on the small one. Or there’s food up the way, get a burger or something.”

“Let’s see Noah & the Whale.” Louis sits up and fishes around behind him in his pack to get out a red sweatshirt and a pair of thick socks to cushion his feet from the plastic of his wellies. “I liked that one, the ‘Five Years Time.’”

“I like that one, too,” Harry says, smiling and pulling on his own wellies. He jams a knit cap over his curly hair. “D’you ever think about where we’ll be in five years’ time?”

Louis shrugs his shoulders. “Do you?”

“All the time,” Harry says earnestly. “Millie will be six, nearly. The band, too. Or maybe the band will be broken up and I’ll never talk to any of you again.”

“Not me,” Louis says. “I’ll still talk to you. Even if the band is up.”

Harry smiles sadly. “I’ve heard that before. No offense intended.”

He crawls out of the tent, and Louis searches around for a moment for his wallet and phone before following; he brushes dead grass and dirt from his knees when he stands. 

He puts his arm around Harry’s shoulder where Harry stands on the grass, looking out over the sea of tents. “Hey,” Louis murmurs, nudging his nose into Harry’s curls. “I’m not Will. Alright? As long as you want me around, you’ve got me. Five years, one year, ten years, whatever. ‘Til Millie’s a wrinkly old woman, if you want.” He knocks his shoulder against Harry’s twice. “Forget all that stuff, H. You’re young and fun and got vodka and you’re at Leeds Fest. Let’s go see Noah & the Whale.”

Harry smiles over at Louis. He’s taller than Louis, now, and never noticed; Harry lifts the flask to his mouth and takes a swig that makes his eyes water before passing the drink to Louis. After Louis chugs long enough that Harry shoves him with an indignant _don’t drink it all, tosser!_ , they run off behind the crowd towards NME’s stage and the Noah show already in progress.

It’s calm and shoegazing hipster music, but the crowd is buzzed and enthusiastic and hollering anyway, hyped up on summer hols and drink. A girl with feathers in her hair offers them small yellow tablets, but after Harry says no, thanks, Louis puts his back in her palm and just offers her, then Harry, a smile and takes a mouthful from the flask. 

After seven songs and stumbling into the crowd, arms linked to keep from losing each other, Louis turns to Harry and whisper-yells with his mouth to Harry’s ear: “This song’s like that thing Niall said, the Irish thing, the thing when Bean was born!”

“What?” Harry’s green eyes are lit up like Christmas trees.

“New life,” Louis says meaningfully. He sings along, mostly yelling with the crowd, with the next line, “‘And it feels like his new life can start, and it feels like heaven!’ H, it’s your song now; say it is!”

Harry throws his head back and laughs for the hell of it. “Sure, Lou. New life, my song, sure.”

They jump with the crowd, splashed in beer and other people’s sweat, screaming _L-I-F-E-G-O-E-S-O-N_ and jumping up and down with everyone else. They join the crush leaving the stage but don’t follow along to the New Found Glory show, instead hanging a turn over to the concessions stand to get beer and Cokes for the rest of their vodka; Louis gets a sausage bun and drunkenly attempts to eat it neatly while he and Harry are greeted by a shy crowd of fans all wanting pictures. He dribbles brown sauce all down his chin and hides with with a sausage bun smile, and Harry grins at him with glowing eyes and takes his own photo to show Millie later just how silly her Mup could be.

Harry is just pouring vinegar over his fish and chips, laughing raucously at some half-slurred and uncouth thing Louis’ mumbling about collecting phone numbers for Zayn’s little black book, when he stops stock-still, staring over Louis’ shoulder like he’s seen a ghost.

“H?” Louis asks, swallowing the last of his bun, “Are you alright?”

Harry’s chest heaves with quick, shallow breaths; his heart is pounding so hard in his chest that it hurts and his hands come up to rub at it through his black London TimeOut shirt, fish and chips spilling forgotten over the concessions table. “That’s Clare,” he breathes. “She’s here. And with Emily Witt, that’s who – Millie’s named for her.”

Louis whirls around. “Where?”

“The blonde girl – woman – girl,” Harry stammers. He slides his hands onto Louis’ shoulders to point him in the right direction, then hides behind Louis’ body. “She’s right there in a pink jacket, with the black stripes under the blonde hair like – there, right there, that’s her, that’s Clare.”

Clare is beautiful, in the unconventional way that Harry likes: her nose as a bump over the top; her lower lip isn’t as full as the upper. She’s curvy, all wide hips and cleavage above the neck line of her white top, breasts framed like a heart with the zip of her pink hoodie sweatshirt. She’s got a round face with apple-cheeks and huge eyes beneath long racks of false lashes. Louis’ never actually seen her before, not even a picture. 

“Millie doesn’t look like her at all,” he assesses, glancing back at Harry cowering behind him.

“Their faces are the same shape,” Harry offers. “And maybe Clare’s real hair is brown. I don’t remember.”

The girl Clare is standing with – also pretty, taller, dark-skinned and pale-eyed with hair in a long loose braid to her waist – points, then, to LouisAndHarry. Clare’s gaze follows, and Louis murmurs to Harry, “The jig is up.”

Harry peeks out from behind Louis’ shoulder.

Clare waves.

“Shit.” Harry waves back, and after a moment’s deliberation, Emily and Clare start walking over. Beetles click in the grass, whirring their hard bodies in a sound like the crowd of people still milling all around. Harry fists his hand in the back of Louis’ sweatshirt for comfort, and they walk forward paces, too, so they can meet Clare on neutral territory.

Clare smiles when they’re close. “Hiya, Hazza.”

“Hi,” Harry coughs, then clears his throat and tries again. “Hi. Y’alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Clare says, smiling. “Finished my certificate and all. This is my celebration.”

“Good, yeah,” Harry says awkwardly. “Congratulations.”

“And you?” Clare offers, eyes wide and hand out, palm open and placating. “I heard your song on the radio. Not what you used to sing, but it’s very cute.”

Harry’s lips purse and his eyes flicker from Clare’s face to her hand to Louis’ profile and then, to the ground. “Yeah, erm, basically I like it.” He coughs again and startles a bit before gesturing widely to Louis. “Oh, erm, this is Louis Tomlinson, he’s – in the band with me.”

“Hey,” Louis says, reaching out and shaking Clare’s hand because it’s there. He knows his palms are sticky from sausage and brown sauce, but it doesn’t matter much what impression he makes. “I’m his roommate.”

“Oh, yeah.” Clare shakes his hand back once, and her grip is surprisingly cool and firm. She appraises Louis with a long, sweeping gaze up and down his body. “I read about that in the Mail.” She looks back at Harry. “London treating you alright? Right scary a few weeks ago out your way. Everything alright?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry says. “I mean, yeah, it was scary for a bit, but we were all okay.”

He holds her eyes for a significant minute, and Clare smiles the ghost of a smile at him and nods. 

“Good. Listen, yeah, we’re off to see The Horrors, but if you want to come along…?”

“No, ‘s’alright,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I think we’re going to erm – erm – ”

“Metronymy,” Louis supplies helpfully, and slides his hand onto the small of Harry’s back, his thumb caressing small figure-eights over Harry’s tense muscles. “And then The Blackout, after. Right, H?”

“Yeah,” Harry echoes gratefully. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Okay,” Clare says, smiling at him again. She tugs at the end of one of Harry’s stray curls beneath the brim of his knit cap. “It was good seeing you. Quite a surprise.”

“Yeah,” Harry mumbles. “Surprise, yeah. And Emily, good to see you.”

Emily nods and raises her eyebrows, and then, quite suddenly and alarmingly, expels a lungful of smoke. She coughs once, delicately, and grins at him through red eyes. “Good yeah, Hazza. Clarebear, we’ve got to go on.”

Clare gives Harry a last smile and turns to go, arm around Emily’s waist as they hold each other up stumbling through the grass and mud.

Harry collapses against Louis’ side heavily. “The fuck was that.”

“You did great, Harry,” Louis promises, propping Harry up and giving him a fond tummy-rub for support. “Look, let’s get you a new fish and chips and we can just go back to the tent, yeah? D’you want to call your mum?”

“I think I just want to sleep,” Harry mumbles. “Can you – d’you mind that? You can go see another show if you want, I’ll be alright.”

“I don’t want to be here without you,” Louis says. “That was the whole point, you and me together. I’ll go back with you.”

Louis pays for Harry to get another fish and chips basket and doesn’t let him get another beer, instead plying him with an orange soda because, well, he knows Harry and Harry is sort of a kid. He puts so much vinegar on Harry’s fish that it makes his own eyes water, just like Harry likes, and helps Harry make his way back to the tent.

Inside, they unzip their two sleeping bags and jimmy them together to zip them up into one huge mega-sleeping bag, and Louis lets Harry eat his fish and chips in the ‘bed’ because _we’re already outside with dirt and bugs and worm shit and shit, what’s a few crumbs to do?_. It’ll never get quiet, really, enough to feel tired, but they pass the vodka back and forth until they get doe-eyed and sleepy.

Louis curls around Harry, this time, with his arm around Harry’s waist under the heavy top half of the sleeping bag, and hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder.

“You okay, really?” he asks softly, kicking the bottom of Harry’s foot with his own cold toes.

“I feel bad for Millie that Clare didn’t want me,” Harry whispers. His speech is slurred and heavy. “She didn’t want me and it made Millie lose her, too. I don’t want Millie to lose everyone who doesn’t want me. I don’t want Millie to lose you when you stop wanting me, Louis, you gotta – just ignore me and just want to be… for Millie, please.”

“What are you talking about, Harry?”

“In LA… you, with the…” Harry trails off and drums his fingers on Louis’ arm. “Stuff, the stuff, you – when I was taking your pants off, you want me, wanted me, I think, but you – you go out, all the time? And that’s fair, because you don’t really want me, but don’t leave us, Louis, please?”

Louis swallows. “Go to sleep, H.”

“Don’t leave,” Harry begs, pulling Louis’ arm tighter around his chest. “Not ‘cause of me.”

“I won’t, Harry, I swear, just… go to sleep.”

•••

On the day “What Makes You Beautiful” comes out, they’re due to be interviewed by The Hot Desk, Sugarscape, CapitalFM, and whole slew of other shows – and an hour after Harry kisses Millie’s face and drops her off at Lou Teasdale’s house for the day, Paul gets a call from Tom Atkin that Lou’s gone into labor and they have to come back and get Millie.

They walk into their Hot Desk interview nearly twenty-five minutes late, Harry letting Millie clutch his hands as she toddles in front of him, babbling excitedly about _baby baby baby! Now! Daddy! Baby!_

“That’s right, little bean,” Harry agrees, looking harassed. “Lou is having her baby right now. So you, my little baby, have to be very quiet while we’re talking to this nice lady.”

“No!” Millie argues, craning her head up to look at him. “Gogogo!”

“No, sweetie, it’s not time to go, go, go,” Harry says, and heaves Millie up into his arms. “It’s time to sit, sit, sit and do an interview.” 

At the end of the day, Millie’s thrown up beneath the sound booth at Capital FM; eaten two coffee beans she found on the floor; flashed her belly proudly at everyone she’s met, much to Harry’s chagrin as it leads to quote unfunny jokes about Harry’s X Factor penchant for nudity; and by the time they get home, Louis is carrying Millie, who is hitting him repeatedly in the ear as she tells him about _baby, Mup! Now!_ and Harry, as soon as they’ve opened the door to the flat, collapses face-first onto the sofa and refuses to move.

Louis orders a pizza for dinner, since that’s the only option, and Liam tuts around their flat cleaning up crushed peaches and Crunchy Rings from the floor. Harry finally gets up when Tom calls back with the news that baby Lux is healthy and perfect, and he spends the next half-hour trying to coax Millie to say ‘friend.’

Without Lou able to watch Millie while they do promotions for “What Makes You Beautiful,” Harry and Louis are constantly exhausted. After the chart show, when they’ve hit #1 in the UK – a lifelong dream – all Louis wants to do is nap back at the flat. He can vaguely hear Harry, Anne, Robin, and his mum talking in the kitchen; Gemma and Eleanor are driving down from Bradwell later and he’s meant to go out to dinner with Eleanor so smaller outlets can get reports of them together. Last he’d checked, Millie was cruising around in her toddle-chair in the kitchen, zooming around Anne’s legs and singing nonsense sounds, so he folds his arm beneath his head and lets himself doze.

Louis is sound asleep on the couch when suddenly, the side of his face, just below his cheekbone, feels… damp. He takes in a long breath through his nose and twitches a little against the cushions, not ready to wake up yet.

His cheek gets a little damper and then there are tiny, curious fingers prodding gently at his closed eyelids.

Louis reaches up to catch Millie’s hands before he opens his eyes with a bleary blink and gives her a little smile. “What’cha need, bean?”

Millie grins at him from where she’s panting on his face and lifts her arms; Louis lifts her up so they can share the couch, Millie sitting cross-legged over his belly. 

“Is that what you came over to say?” Louis asks. “You just wanted a cuddle?”

“Seepy,” Millie whispers, flapping her hands.

“You’re sleepy? D’you want to take a nap? It’s a bit close to your dinnertime.”

Millie shakes her head. “Mup,” she whispers. “Seepy.”

Louis laughs under his breath. “Did you wake me up to tell me I was sleeping?”

Millie flops over so that she’s giving Louis a good cuddle, her face pressed into his chest. She nods happily and Louis chuckles again before gently smoothing down her flyaway curls. “Sweet goofy bean.”

Finally, finally, baby Lux is old enough to be exposed to Millie and all of her toddling-baby germs. Harry bundles Millie into a jumper and red tights and a red bow in her hair and takes her to Lou- and Tom’s house for tea. Louis has to go get photos taken with Eleanor in the park – before he leaves, Harry asks, “Pink shorts, Louis? Really?” – but Millie pouts and clings to his leg, so he promises to come by after they’ve wrapped.

Lou Teasdale looks tired, as to be expected, but she’s beaming when she opens the door. “Hello, Styleses. Come on in.”

She gathers the tiny bundle of Lux out of her white bassinet while Harry takes a seat on the sofa, wriggling Millie on his lap trying to get free.

“Look, Millie,” Harry whispers. “This is your new friend Lux.”

Millie cocks her head and looks from tiny, pink Lux cradled in Lou’s arms, back up to her dad’s face. Millie points. “Dizzar?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “No, Lux.”

Millie shakes her head. “Dizzar. Ammino. Mine?”

“Oh!” Harry stifles a laugh and squeezes Millie close. “No, goofball. She’s a baby. She’s a little baby girl, just like you.”

Millie shakes her head. “Bee girl. No dizzar.” She claps her hands happily. “Mine dizzar!”

“No, sweetie, she’s not a lizard,” Harry tries to explain, holding down his laugh until his ribs feel like they might break. “She’s just a baby, a _human_ baby. A _person_ baby. No lizards.”

Millie bounces in his lap. Her head swivels on her neck so she can fix him with huge green eyes in a stare. “Mine?”

“No,” Harry says, brushing some curls out of Millie’s eyes. “She’s not yours. But she’s your friend. Do you want to hold her on your lap?”

Millie considers this. “Bite?”

“No,” Harry chuckles, “She doesn’t have any teeth. Millie, she’s a _person_ , she’s not going to bite you.”

Millie’s lips purse, but she nods all the same. 

“Okay,” Lou sings softly. “Sit very still, Millie. Put your legs out so baby Lux has somewhere to sit; that’s a good girl. Ready?”

Millie nods, eyes huge and suspicious as Lou lowers Lux onto Millie’s lap. Sitting curved behind them both, Harry helps Millie use her arm to support Lux’s heavy little head. Millie stares down at little Lux gazing back up at her with no small amount of interest. Lux stuffs her fingers into her mouth and sucks on them. Harry smiles softly and reaches around Millie’s belly so that Lux can wrap her other tiny hand around his finger.

“Hello, Lux,” Harry coos, “You’ve got quite a strong arm there.”

Millie blinks and looks up at her dad. “Lux mine?”

“No,” Harry repeats. “Lux is Lou’s and Tom’s. You’re mine. But you don’t have a baby. And you won’t have one for _thirty_ years.”

Lou laughs outright at that and Harry gives a little sheepish shrug. 

Millie nods contemplatively and looks down at baby Lux, whose open eyes are still set to Millie’s face. “Girl?”

“Yes, cutie,” Lou says, nodding. “Lux is a girl. Just like you!”

“Bee girl!” Millie enthuses. She scrunches up her face and shakes her head. “No boys.”

“No boys is right,” Lou agrees. “Boys _smell_.”

“Hey,” Harry says mildly. “Of four people in this room, two of them wear nappies and neither of them is a boy. Categorically, I smell less.”

Lux gives a sharp wriggle, the wet hand from her mouth lashing out to pat Millie’s cheek.

“Ouch!” Millie cries. “Bite!”

“No, no, no,” Harry soothes, “Shhh. She’s not biting you, silly. She just wants to say hi.”

“Hi,” Millie says. 

Lux fishmouths back, her slimy fingers crawling towards Millie’s mouth. 

“ _Daddy_ ,” Millie whines in distress. “Bad dizzar.”

“Did she just call my daughter a ‘bad lizard’?” Lou asks Harry, one eyebrow raised. Harry gives her a one-shouldered shrug and a toothy grin. 

“Daddy!” Millie whines again. Lux’s little hand is covering Millie’s mouth.

“Are you done with holding her?” Harry asks sympathetically. “Babies are difficult.”

Millie nods earnestly, so Lou carefully shifts Lux back into her own arms, clucking soothingly as Lux whimpers and gurgles.

“Do you want to hold her, Hazz?” Lou offers. Lux gurgles again and kicks her legs. Millie tilts her head as she surveys the smaller baby, and curiously reaches out to touch Lux’s small nose. 

“Be gentle,” Harry quickly tells Millie, resting his hand over her arm. Millie curiously pets Lux’s face. Harry kisses the side of Millie’s head and then smiles at Lou. “Yes, please.”

“Say, Millie,” Lou says brightly, “Do you want to come to the kitchen with me and help me get some snacks?”

“Fruit?” Millie chirrups.

“Sure,” Lou says, nodding. “You can have some fruit.”

Millie waves her hands and bounces excitedly until Harry lifts her down from his lap and she has to grip the edge of the coffee table until her balance restores itself. 

Lou hands Harry the tiny bundle of Lux and stands, offering Millie her hand. “Come on, pretty girl.”

“Bee girl,” Millie agrees, gripping three of Lou’s fingers. 

They head off towards the kitchen and Harry turns his attention to the little warm baby in his arms. Her eyes are closed again like she’s simply exhausted herself with all this excitement and needs to doze. Harry touches her tiny butterfly hand with the tip of one of his index fingers and even in her sleepiness, Lux waves her arm again and it comes to rest on Harry’s wrist.

“Hi, Lux,” Harry says softly. “You’re very tiny. You’re much younger than Millie was the first time I held her, though. That’s sad, isn’t it? That I’m meeting you younger than I met my own baby? You just met Millie. I’m sorry she called you a lizard. You don’t look like a lizard. I don’t know why everyone I know thinks babies look like lizards.”

The speakers into Lou- and Tom’s apartment buzz and Louis’ voice floats in. “Hey, I’m here; buzz me up.”

“Go ahead, Hazza,” Lou calls from the kitchen. “It’s the green button.”

Harry stands, carefully balancing tiny Lux in the crook of his arm, and crosses to the door. He pushes the green button. “Come on in, Tommo.”

Harry can hear Louis taking the stairs up two-at-a-time, stomping his way up the old wooden stairs, and he looks down at little Lux. “You’re gonna met Louis now. He’s very loud, but don’t be frightened.”

Louis knocks shave-and-a-haircut and Harry grins as he opens the door, singing, “Two bits.”

Louis grins back. “Dependable Harold.” Then he sees Lux and his smile turns delighted. “And hello, little baby Lux.” He looks back up at Harry. “Gimme, gimme.”

“Hold on, go sit down and you can have her,” Harry says.

Louis levels Harry with a flat look. “Harry, I’ve been carrying around a baby _with you_ for near a year. I think I can hold Lux standing up.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Right. Well, still, I’m not done holding her yet and you should wash up.”

Louis sighs as he hangs up his hat and jacket. “Fine. You hog _all_ the babies.”

Harry scoffs, but once Louis’ wandered off to find the bathroom and is out of earshot, Harry leans down close to Lux’s tiny ears and whispers, “I _do_ hog all the babies.” 

He heads back over to the sofa and sits down to tickle the side of Lux’s belly ever-so-lightly to make her gurgle and squirm, blue eyes wide open in alertness, and Harry grins at her. Louis comes back into the room, drying his hands on his pants, just as Lou comes in with a tray of cut fruit, a box of Jaffa cakes, and a pot of tea. Millie crawls at her heels, gnawing on a shortbread biscuit.

“Hello, Louis,” Lou says warmly. She sets down her tray and leans in to kiss him on both cheeks. “Glad you’re here.”

“You’re looking really well,” Louis enthuses. “Harry’s hogging your baby, though.”

Millie is still sat a few feet away, her eyebrows lowered and lips puckered as she surveys Harry and Lux. She hasn’t even cruised over to greet Louis yet.

Millie pushes herself to standing and, with some great effort, takes three unsteady steps towards the sofa.

Harry’s face blooms into a wide grin. “Millie! You’re walking.”

“Yay!” Louis and Lou cheer, quietly enough not to disturb little Lux in Harry’s arms. They applaud.

Millie keeps frowning heavily. 

“Mine Daddy,” she yowls, taking another two steps. Her hands come to rest on Harry’s knees and she grasps them gratefully. “No dizzar. Mine Daddy.”

“Someone’s jealous,” Lou says knowingly, reaching out to ruffle Millie’s hair. 

Harry clucks sympathetically and hands Lux over to Louis. He pulls a silly face at the tiny baby as he settles her into the crook of his arm, but Lux looks thoroughly unperturbed and promptly closes her eyes again, dozing down.

Millie hits Harry’s knees insistently. “Mine Daddy!”

“Of course I am,” Harry soothes, lifting her back up into his lap. She cuddles against him immediately, hand tucked into the collar of his dickey shirt. “Millie, just because I was holding Lux doesn’t mean you aren’t my baby.”

“Bee-Daddy,” Millie argues tetchily. “Mine, go. Girl.”

“That’s right,” Harry praises her. He kisses the top of her head. “You’re my big girl. And I love you very much.”

“Mine,” Millie says, still fretful. She looks over to where Louis is fussing over Lux and frowns harder. “Mine Muppie.”

“Oh, Millie,” Louis says, “Please be nice to little baby Lux. I’m still your Mup even if I’m playing with somebody else.”

Millie’s nostrils flare and she tucks her face into Harry’s chest. Harry rubs her back in mollifying circles as he shoots Lou an apologetic look. She waves it off and pours him a cup of tea.

“Millie?” Lou offers gently. “Do you want some plum?”

Millie nods and turns around with her hand out like a Victorian beggar, long face and huge eyes and demanding. Lou gives her a little segment of plum and Millie gnaws at it vengefully.

“Hazz, do you want a Jaffa cake?” Lou offers, taking two for herself.

“No, thanks,” Harry says. “My mate once dared me to eat one with brown sauce and I still can’t really look at them.” He pauses. “And one time I accidentally ate a Tampax while I was really drunk because the box looked like the Jaffa box.”

Lou’s head falls back as she laughs uproariously. Lux startles at the sound and starts to whimper, only calming when Louis lets her mouth on the knuckle of his thumb like it’s a dummy.

•••

Lou watches Millie and Lux simultaneously as best she can, but Millie gets into _everything_ now that she’s independently mobile, and all she ever wants to get into is Lux’s bassinet to poke at her and beg her to _gogogo_. In the end, Harry begs Gemma to come down to London for just a week, just another weekend, to watch her; since Eleanor is renting a room in Primrose Hill, Gemma doesn’t mind sharing with her. The photos of Louis and Eleanor in the park are a minor earthquake in the UK celebrity world, since half of London has taken Larry Stylinson as a foregone conclusion raising a baby together in Biblical sin, and the other half are still holding vigils for Louannah. Millie’s twitter account posts a photo of Louis’ foot in his striped TOMS nudged up alongside Eleanor’s elegantly pedicured toes in a golden sandal, and it spawns five separate trending topics.

They ward off a string of shallow interview requests about _what is home life like, now that Louis has a new squeeze? Does Hannah still have contact with Millie? Is Eleanor_ really _Millie’s mum?_ as the weather changes from summer into a woolly, gray, wet London autumn. Just before the band – and Millie – are due to head to Amsterdam for a fan event, Gemma, Eleanor, and Millie get caught in the rain at the park and all three develop terrible colds.

“I’m so sorry, Hazzhead,” Gemma sniffles. Her eyes are ringed with deep purple bags and her nose is red and miserable. Behind her, from somewhere in the rented flat, Eleanor heaves a hacking cough. 

“It’s alright,” Harry sighs, bouncing Millie on his hip even as she grumbles and whines and there’s a sudden string of snot connecting her nose to his shoulder. “Paul can watch her in Amsterdam, I guess. Lou can’t come now ‘cause Lux can’t get ill.”

“I’m sorry,” Gemma repeats. She pats Millie’s head. “Sorry, little miss.”

“Yucky,” Millie concurs, wiping her nose ineffectively and smearing bogeys all down her arm.

The flight is a mess of Millie sobbing because her stuffy nose makes her ears pop, but the Bring 1D To Me event goes alright with Paul taking care of Millie. Millie spends most of the day staring up at Paul in amazement because he’s by far the largest human being she’s ever encountered, and that sight makes the boys laugh more often than Paul would ever admit.

The evening, though, brings a new set of issues after they’re deposited at the hotel and left to their own devices.

“We can’t go out,” Harry says apologetically, bouncing Millie a bit in his arms to shush her. “It’s late and Millie’s a bit ill. And I don’t think she should be around pot smoke anyway, she’s a baby.”

Niall frowns. “ _You_ can’t go out because it’s late and Millie’s ill. _We_ can still go out.”

“That’s not fair to Harry,” Zayn says softly, shrugging. “Who knows if we’ll ever come to Amsterdam again.”

“Exactly!” says Niall. “This might be a once-in-a-lifetime chance, and I don’t want to waste it sitting in a hotel! I want to go out, and I wanna go out with my boys!”

“Well, we can’t,” Harry repeats. He remembers a beat too late to modulate his voice softer and Millie whines against his neck, muttering _no-no-no_ against Harry’s skin.

“ _No_ ,” Niall says, and his voice is harder than they’ve ever heard him. “ _You_ can’t. _We can_ and I’m sick of bein’ held back just because someone else has got a kid. Look, Harry, you know I love you and I love Millie, but she’s not my kid and I don’t feel like it’s fair we’ve all got to act like we’re parents. I’m fucking eighteen years old and – you know, Harry, I’ve been having sex with girls almost as long as you have, and somehow _I_ managed not to knock anyone up! Because I wanted to be able to _live my life and go out with my boys and do things_ , and it’s just – it’s not fair your mistakes are punishing the rest of us!”

Harry just swallows and cups a hand over the back of Millie’s head. She whines again and suddenly there’s yellow-green baby snot all over Harry’s shoulder.

Then he turns on his heel and disappears into the adjoining room. They can all just see Harry pressing a kiss to the top of Millie’s downy head as the door thuds shut.

Louis turns to Niall with lowered brows and fire in his blue eyes. “That wasn’t fucking on, Niall.”

“I know it wasn’t,” Niall says miserably. But he frowns again and shores himself up to look Louis straight in the face. “But it was still true. We’re not all Millie’s dad. We shouldn’t have to live our lives like we’ve got babies when we haven’t. We’re touring the fucking world! We’re in Amsterdam! We’re traveling Europe, and I for one want to see it!”

“ _You called her a mistake_ ,” Louis hisses, shaking Niall a bit by the shoulders. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“I know that weren’t right,” Niall says, “I didn’t mean that part. But I’m still going out and if you want to come and actually have fun on a night out, then you can. And if you don’t, then you can sit and play at house with Harry. We all know that’s what you want anyway.”

“ _Niall_ ,” Liam gasps when Louis’ face darkens and he shakes Niall a little harder. 

Niall just slaps Louis’ hands away and storms out of the suite. Louis ranks his hands through his hair and escapes to the bathroom, where the click of the lock shreds through the silence Liam and Zayn leave behind. The faucet starts running moments later and Liam sighs.

“I’ll get Niall,” he offers softly. “He shouldn’t be out alone if he’s going to a coffeeshop.”

“Yeah, go on,” Zayn agrees, nodding and already ducking his way towards the bathroom door. “I’ve got Lou.”

“And Harry,” Liam reminds him. He shoulders into a jacket that probably belongs to someone who isn’t Liam, nods to Zayn, and scurries out the door as he brings up Niall on BBM.

Zayn settles himself down in the corner so that his feet are rested against the door to Harry-, Millie- and Louis’ adjoining room while his head is pressed against the bathroom door. “Lou?” he calls softly. “Liam’s gone to watch Niall. They’re out.”

There’s a pause.

“Yeah, okay,” Louis calls back. The faucet shuts off and Zayn hears Louis rummaging around with the towels, drying his face. He cracks open the door and shuffles out around Zayn’s lazy figure. “Did you want to go out, too?”

“Nah, I’m knackered,” Zayn says easily. “Think I just wanna like, veg out and watch a movie. You wanna watch one?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis mutters. He takes a deep breath and Zayn can hear it shudder a bit in the base of Louis’ chest. 

“You wanna see if Harry can?” Zayn offers, kindly not looking at the older boy.

Louis shrugs, but pads over to the adjoining door and knocks softly. Harry’s face is pale and pinched when he peeps out.

“Me and Zayn wanna watch a movie,” Louis explains, not looking at Harry. “You wanna?”

“You can go out,” Harry answers. His brow is drawn low over his green eyes and his lips are pursed tight. When he swallows, his adam’s apple bobs sharply. “I’m just getting Millie to sleep. It’s fine.”

“Nah, I’m knackered,” Zayn says again, craning his neck up to look at Harry. “Let’s watch a movie. I bet they got that one with Russell Brand and the fat guy from _Superbad_. I really want to see that one.”

Harry sighs and opens the door as he shakes his hair back into place. “Fine. Be kind of quiet though.”

Zayn plonks himself down on Louis’ twin bed and stretches himself out to take up the whole thing, rank shoes rubbing all over Louis’ blankets. 

Louis swallows and scarcely hides a scowl at Zayn, who gives him a bit of a cheeky smirk, and Louis sits gingerly on the side of Harry’s bed nearest Millie’s foldaway hotel crib. 

Millie glurgles a bit and whines and rolls over onto her side. When she sees Louis, she rolls over onto her belly and takes a minute to pull herself up so she’s standing in the rickety crib, clinging onto the bars for dear life as her nose runs and she regards Louis plaintively.

“Mup,” she whines, “Gum!”

Louis sighs and leans over to pluck her out of the crib. He wipes her nose on a tissue and bounces her on his knee. 

Millie grabs tight onto his hair and pulls. “Gum!”

“Ow.” Louis gently loosens her fingers and extricates his hair. He looks her straight in the face like a small real person and says, “Millie, that hurts. No.”

Millie frowns for a moment, but then burrows her slimy face into Louis’ arm. “Gum,” she whines again pitifully.

Louis sighs. “Harry, where’s her dummy?”

“Her nose is too stuffed up,” Harry informs him, lying back on the bed beside Louis and the baby with his eyes closed and a forearm slung over his face. “She’ll suffocate herself if she has it.”

“Gum!” Millie insists, smearing bogeys all over Louis’ arm. “Praowwwmine.”

“Oh, I think she’s even trying to say ‘please,’” Louis murmurs, looking down at Harry. “Where is it?”

“She’ll suffocate herself,” Harry repeats and rolls onto his side so his back faces the other three people in the room. “She was falling asleep finally before you guys came in. You should just go out.”

Instead, Zayn clicks on the TV and scrolls through the movie selection. There’s no _Get Him to the Greek_ , but neither Louis nor Harry is paying enough attention that he feels the need to consult them and just picks whatever he wants to watch. He turns the volume down low after it blasts for a second, and settles in on Louis’ bed for a quiet night.

Louis just exhales and shifts Millie around so that she can’t wipe her face on his shirt anymore and instead can cradle up with her back against his chest so he can clean her face for her and she can watch what’s going on around her until she gets sleepy again. She’s still wriggling and whining for her dummy but Harry’s right, with how stuffed her nose is, she wouldn’t be able to breathe, so Louis tries offering her a teething ring (no), a biscuit (no), and her bear (no) before he has to wipe her nose again and Millie puts her hand on his and starts gumming quietly against his thumb. He glances to Harry, who’s clearly fallen asleep beside them, shrugs, and lets her.

Eventually, Millie’s wet slobbing on his hand stills and her breathing evens out into damp, mouth-breathing pants against his wrist, so Louis knows she’s fallen asleep. He settles her carefully back into her crib and tucks her bear nearby in case she needs it in the night.

Then he looks down at all the crusted snot and spit all over his arm and hand and grimaces.

“I’m gonna shower,” he informs Zayn, jerking a thumb towards the bathroom.

Zayn grunts, absorbed in his movie.

By the time Louis comes back, one towel around his head and the other snug around his waist, Harry has woken and clambered onto Louis’ bed beside Zayn, where both boys are flipping through the room service menu. 

“I want cake,” Harry whispers to Louis. “D’you want some cake?”

“Yeah,” Louis whispers back, smiling. “Yeah, sure.”

They take turns reading aloud from the menu in their best, vaguely (or more) offensive Dutch and order a _slagroomtaart_ just because it’s fun to say and has the word ‘slag’ in it. They break the mini bar open and Harry drinks an orange juice that’s _mostly_ vodka while Zayn wonders aloud whether it’s Dutch beer or Belgian beer that’s supposed to be worth the €22 price tag.

“Whatever,” Louis says, and takes out a bottle of prosecco. “This is like champagne, right?”

Harry shrugs. “D’you really care?”

Louis thinks about it for a moment and then starts to crack the wax seal. “Not really.”

Harry laughs again, finally, loose and easy with vodka and orange juice and his boys and Millie finally asleep and curled around her bear in the crib. There’s a knock on the door, and Zayn cries, “It’s our slag!” delightedly before he rolls off the bed to go answer it.

Louis chuckles happily into the mouth of his wine and settles back against the pillows contentedly, crossing his legs daintily at the ankle and cuddling a bit into Harry’s side. Harry smiles down at him and rubs Louis’ shoulder with the easy, liquid quality of sleepy closeness.

“Are you gonna put clothes on?” he asks Louis curiously and gestures down to the towel still knotted around the older boy’s waist.

Louis shrugs. “Eh. You never do. I’m doing a Harry Styles impression.”

“I see,” Harry says sagely, nodding. “Your knees are too close together to be believably me.”

“That’s alright,” Louis says. “Wouldn’t want Zayn to take advantage of me. Gotta keep my dignity.”

Then Zayn kicks the door open (as quietly as he can, but it still thuds loudly enough for Harry to jump) and he staggers into the room with –

“That is the biggest fucking cake I have ever seen,” Louis says reverently. “That cake is bigger than Millie.”

“It fucking is!” Zayn agrees, and dumps it onto the nightstand. “It was also like 80 quid. Paul might kill us.”

“We’ve earned more than 80 quid,” Harry says dismissively. “It’s fine. And he never says no to cake anyway, so we’ll just give him the rest.” He takes the slice of cake Zayn hands him and pours more vodka into his orange juice. “What movie’ve you got?”

“ _Inbetweeners_?” offers Zayn. “We can restart it.”

By the time Neil starts dancing in an empty club in Malia, Louis and Zayn are comfortably to the point of heading-into-sloppy drunk and full of cake and whipped cream, and Harry’s had more vodka than in almost a year since he got custody of Millie, but he thinks he’s still okay if there’s like a fire or something and he needs to make good decisions quickly.

And besides, Liam will be back soon enough and he can make the decisions, really.

So when Zayn starts laughing so hard he’s crying on Louis’ bed, Harry looks over full of droopy camaraderie and says, “You dance almost as good as Will!”

There’s a loud thump when Louis falls out of bed in laughter, and Harry has to put his face into the pillows to keep from howling, but Millie wakes up anyway with a contemplative look out of the crib and a _mup ouch_ , but Louis stands and blinks down at Millie with a smile.

“Hey, her nose is clear,” he says, and it only half-makes sense, but Harry is glad to hear it anyway. He’s still laughing when he rolls over and thumps Louis on the arse and Louis shrieks and hops and stumbles over a bit, which gives Harry room to clamber out of the bed and pick Millie up. 

“Hullo, smallest bean,” Harry greets her, smiling. “Are you feeling better?”

“Daddy,” Millie answers, touching his face.

“That’s right,” Harry says, and his heart feels warm and soft and he thinks, _well, fuck Niall if he doesn’t understand that this is better than going out, really_. “You wanna dance, Miss Millie?”

Millie shrieks something that sounds suspiciously like _meow_ but he chooses to ignore that for another time and instead starts side-stepping and tilting Millie like Will- and Neil’s elbows on-screen, and she laughs and laughs and her nose is still running, but it’s okay. Louis tightens up the towel around his waist and joins in, copying the dance on the TV, and finally Zayn shuffles to his feet and does, too, even though he keeps going to wrong direction and smacking elbows with Louis.

“This should be the official One Direction dance,” Zayn comments finally, after they’ve gotten the hang of it. “Our very own Bye Bye Bye.”

“Bye!” Millie agrees, waving to Zayn even though her palm is facing back at herself. 

Harry laughs and kisses her little head and grabs her hand to keep waltzing her in a line back and forth across the little hotel room. The movie’s moved on, but they’re all still dancing and Louis’ nearly at the end of his bottle of wine and his towel is slipping down one hip, and Zayn’s drunk all of the beers in the mini bar on top of finishing Harry’s bottle of vodka.

The suite door opens and shuts and Liam sticks his head into their bedroom. “What’re you all doing awake?”

“The official 1D dance,” Harry informs him, “Come learn it.”

Liam hesitates, and Harry can see him weighing the time to the next interview, but Millie cries, “Lim!” so Liam crumbles.

Liam smiles and comes into the room, and Zayn slings a heavy arm around Liam’s neck and gives him a drunken, smacking kiss on the cheek before showing him the Inbetweeners’ dance. Liam looks the most like Will when he does it, confused and a bit robotic, but he’s grinning and seems happy enough.

“How was Amsterdam?” Harry asks after a while.

“It was okay,” Liam says. “It’s a Thursday so it’s probably a bit quiet. It was weird, the weed’s cheaper than the beer or coffee or anything.”

“That’s ace,” Louis comments, shaking out his empty wine bottle forlornly. “Did _you_ smoke?”

“No,” Liam says in a tone that suggests it was quite a stupid question, even for Louis. “But you don’t even really need to ‘cause the air’s so full of it. I reckon I’m a bit high. Do I seem high?”

“Oh, yeah,” Harry humors him. “Just – fucking – wrecked.”

“Oh, shut up,” Liam says cheerfully. Then he pauses. “Is that a gigantic cake on the nightstand?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and stumbles back towards it. “Want some?”

“Yes,” Liam says immediately, plopping down on Louis’ empty bed to take a slice. “I think you’ve had quite a more exciting evening than Niall and I have.”

“Where is Niall?” Harry asks as he settles Millie back into her crib, yawning. “Did he not come back?”

“He’s in our room,” Liam says. “He found some American girl here on holiday and brought her back.”

As if on cue, there’s a knock on the doorframe and Niall’s face peeks in sheepishly. “Hey, Zayn, do you have any condoms in your bag? Only I’ve run out.”

“No, sorry, mate,” Zayn says. “I’m out, too.”

Harry leans over his bed into his suitcase and tosses a small box to Niall. “Have at.”

Niall catches it and looks down, biting his lip. “Thanks, Harry. I – thanks.”

“No problem,” Harry says. Then he grins cheekily. “Hopefully they’re not too big.”

“Fuck you,” Niall says, but they’re grinning at each other again and things feel a bit better in the air. Niall gives him an army salute and ducks back out again and they all laugh at the sound of his bare feet slapping against the suite floor as he jogs back over to the other boys’ bedroom.

There’s half a moment of silence hanging in the balance before Millie looks to the nightstand and her eyes go round as nickels. 

“Cake?” she chirrups. “Mine!”


	13. Chapter 13

On the morning of Millie’s first birthday, the air is frosty but bright with sunshine. Louis buckles Millie into her carseat in the back of Robin’s Range Rover, Liam already in the passenger seat, as Niall climbs through the other door to sit beside Millie in the back. 

“Nayyo,” Millie chirps happily, waving at Niall ecstatically as though she hadn’t seen him in years when, in fact, it had been he who lifted her out of her crib just half an hour earlier and changed her nappy. She jabbers delightedly and pats the cold car window. “Gobo, atatata go! Nayyo!”

“Yeah?” Niall asks, leaning over to peer out of her window. “Wotcha see, Mills?”

Millie makes a soft shushing sound as she taps the window, green eyes wide. She pats the window again, harder this time, looking from Niall to the window. “Gobo!” She makes the sound again, and Niall is fairly certain that if she were saying this to Harry or Louis or maybe even Zayn, they’d understand exactly what she meant. 

After Amsterdam, he and Harry have been trying. So now, with Millie patting the window and looking at him expectantly, he’s going to try.

Niall looks out the window, trying to follow the line of Millie’s vision. Holmes Chapel is small enough, but out in the countryside where the bungalow is, there’s absolutely nothing around for miles except frost on the field and crisp blue autumn sky and –

“Birds?” Niall asks, glancing at Millie. “Are you looking at birds?”

Millie’s eyes sparkle and she _shush-shush-shush_ es again, and Niall realizes that it sounds a bit like the beat of bird wings, just as they are outside the window now as they flap across the field from plant to plant, pecking for food. Niall smiles at her and pets Millie’s curly hair down where it’s sticking up comically at the back of her head, just as impossible as her dad’s.

“Yeah,” he says. “Birds are pretty. Good spot, Millie. You’re pretty smart.”

Millie covers her face with both hands. “No!”

Niall laughs and turns to prop his feet up on the back of Liam’s seat as Louis turns the ignition and they back down the driveway of the bungalow and out onto the traffic circus and out towards Congleton. 

“I dunno, Mills,” Niall says, “You seem pretty smart to me. You got Louis beat for sure.”

“Niall Alfonse Horan, I will turn this car around,” Louis snaps sharply from the driver’s seat. “You will get _no_ McDonalds breakfast.”

Millie looks out from behind her fingers. “Mice?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Louis says indulgently, “ _You_ can have breakfast. You can have as many sausages as you want. And pancakes! Because it’s your birthday, and I don’t mind if you get syrup in your ear again.”

“No, no.” Millie waves her hands dismissively. “Yucky. Mice, gogogo.” Then she pauses, and Niall can see the wheels turning in her head as she looks out the window, and then to her own kicking feet in her tiny blue socks, then to Louis driving the car. “Mup?”

“Yes, little bean?” 

“Bee fruit?” Millie asks, leaning as far forward as her carseat will allow, which isn’t much. She blinks winsomely and Niall laughs, still watching her. Liam is yawning and nodding over in the passenger seat, his curly head rested against the window pane. It bumps as Louis takes a rough turn, and Liam frowns like a disoriented puppy.

Louis smiles at Millie in the rearview mirror, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You are your daddy’s daughter, aren’t you? All you ever want to eat is fruit and sausage.” He pauses. “Out of context, that would be a very damning statement about our Harry.”

Liam smacks Louis’ arm even as he yawns again, blinking like he’s being born into a bright new world.

“Mup!” Millie demands, smacking her hands against the plastic of the seat. “Fruit gogogo?”

“Oh, sorry, bean,” Louis says distractedly, turning into the parking lot of McDonalds in Congleton. “Yes, you may have fruit.”

Millie beams and kicks her legs happily, and when Louis unbuckles her from her carseat she clings onto him, rubbing her face along the side of his neck. “Muppie gaow Bee.”

Louis smooths his hand over the back of her head fondly. “You’re welcome, Milliebean. Let’s up you go.” He lifts her onto his shoulders and holds tight around her back as she shrieks, fingers gripping into his hair and little feet kicking his clavicle. 

“She’s like, _weird_ polite for her age,” Niall comments as he absently kicks a rock. “I’ve got a cousin, Tanya, and she’s got a two-year-old and he’s less’n Millie is. She’s a bit odd.”

“I wouldn’t say she’s _polite_ ,” Louis says tetchily. “She can’t say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ or ‘no, I don’t think I will poo right here, right now, because that’s a terrible idea as my little arse is right next to Mup’s face.’ _Seriously_ , Millie?”

Millie just laughs as she tumbles off Louis’ shoulders and into his steady arms. “Bee!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Louis grumbles, and Liam holds the door open so Louis-and-Millie and Niall can squeeze past him. “You’re a little bean. But you make a big smell. Payner, can you do the orders and everything while I change her?”

Liam wrinkles his nose and waves him off. “Please.”

When Louis comes back, Millie riding his shoulders again gleefully pulling his fringe and crowing _go Mup go, go!_ Liam is juggling two trays of drink cups while Niall holds three bags crumpled under one arm, calmly munching on a bacon roll.

“Mice!” Millie shrieks, reaching out for Niall. It shifts her weight and makes Louis stumble once, and Niall actually drops the roll to jump over and help straighten them out. 

Louis lifts Millie down sheepishly and sets her on her sock-feet on the McDonalds floor. “Let’s practice some walking, Millie. Okay?”

Millie bats his hands away from her shoulders and trots over to the fallen bacon roll. She crouches down and looks at it somberly. “No, mice. Up!” She pokes at it, and – on finding it still warm – peels the bread away from the bacon and slips the bacon slice into her hand. She stands again and trots to Niall, presenting him with the disemboweled bacon and a smile. “Nayyo! Food!” She slaps the bacon into his palm with a greasy sound. “Mmm!”

Niall considers the bacon for a long minute. He looks from Millie’s grinning face to the rest of the sandwich on the floor, one of the McDonalds workers already nearby to sweep it up. 

Then Niall bites into the meat and shrugs. “It wasn’t on the floor, really. The bread was. Millie’s got the right idea. Plus, you don’t want to upset a birthday girl, do you?”

Millie preens, sucking baconfat from her own fingers. “Mmm. Mice.” She lifts her arms and gestures for Niall to lift her. “Nayyo!”

“Niall’s hands are full, little bean,” Louis chivvies. “Why don’t you hold my hand and we’ll walk to the car?”

“No,” Millie says thoughtfully. She plops down on the floor. “No gogo.”

“Millie,” Liam wheedles, “If we don’t go to the car, your daddy can’t have breakfast. Because we have his food. Daddy! Food! Mmm!”

Millie blinks at Liam, thoroughly unimpressed. She sucks on her fingers, lapping up the last of the baconfat. “Bee tannomobee zo, bite bite bite.”

“Okay, so something hurts?” Louis asks, kneeling down to get close to her eye level. “Is it your knees?” He taps her knees gently with his index fingers. Millie shakes her head. “Is it… your legs?” He jiggles her legs, and Millie shakes her head. “Is it your feet?” He tickles the bottoms of her feet, and Millie giggles. 

“Zo agogo,” she explains, patting her foot into Louis’ hand. “Nonononono!” She grins brilliantly, all tiny gappy white teeth and blank pink spaces, and lifts her arms, a tiny regal queen. “Mup.”

Louis sighs and lifts her onto his hip. She pats his face as if to say _good lad_ and snuggles her head down against his chest. “You little troublemaker. You’re supposed to practice walking, you know.”

“No.” Millie sticks her fingers in her mouth again and turns to look out over Louis’ shoulder as they make their way back to the van. On the road back to the countryside just out of Holmes Chapel, sitting in the backseat, Niall slips Millie apple slices from her McDonalds Fruit Bag and she smiles at him winsomely, dribbling juice down her chin.

Back at the house, they set the breakfasts on the table – though Louis lets Millie bring a slice of apple when she gives him her _please_ eyes – and Niall grabs his guitar. Harry and Zayn are still asleep in the back bedroom, curled up like pillbugs facing away from each other, Zayn bedded down in a heavy jumper and trackies and even a hat, wrapped in blankets, Harry in just his pyjama bottoms and the sheets all flung off his back.

Louis whispers _shhh_ to Millie and sets her down straddling Harry’s back, sticky hands patting his shoulders. 

Then the boys all sing a song about McDonalds breakfast and how far they had to drive to get it, and that it’s time to get _up_! Louis lifts Millie to stand on Harry’s back and she stomps her little stocking-feet joyously, dropping half an apple slice into his hair, while Niall jams on his guitar and Liam jumps over Zayn’s side of the bed, hopping over Zayn’s ankles like he’s a skipping rope. 

In the end, Louis whisks Millie away just in time for Harry to sit up and sing, “Time to get up! For Millie Anne Styles’ first birthday! C’mere, you!” 

He gathers Millie into his arms and cuddles her close, kissing her little face over and over with a sour morning mouth. Finally Millie pushes her hand against his lips and shakes her head, pleading _yucky, Daddy! No Bee haownampa!_

Harry just chuckles and boops the end of her nose. “Okay, little demanding bean. I’m sorry. I’ll brush my teeth and _you_ little birthday-miss, you should brush your teeth too. Ready?”

Millie bares her teeth and chatters them, and Harry sets her down on the floor so she can walk. He groans as his back cracks in a line down his spine, then gets out of bed with a grumble. 

“Get along,” he chides Millie, swatting her behind lightly. “Get to the bathroom to brush your little teethies!”

“Bee gogogo!” Millie agrees, trotting out in front of Harry around the corner into the dark-paneled hall of the bungalow and towards the small bathroom. Harry brushes his teeth and uses toddler toothpaste on the tip of Millie’s finger to brush at her seven-and-a-bit teeth. 

“Spit it out,” Harry reminds her, rubbing her back. 

Millie shakes her head, teeth still foamy. “No.”

“Millie,” Harry says warningly, “Spit it out.”

“No!”

“Fine,” Harry says, taking his hands away. “But no mice.”

Millie lets the foam dribble out from her teeth, and Harry kisses the back of her head. “Good little genius baby birthday girl. D’you want to go eat more fruit?”

“Mice!” Millie reminds him, hitting his hands decisively. Harry sets her back down on the floor and Millie tears off towards the kitchen at her top speed, wobbling on the edges of her pigeon-toes. “Daddy, food!”

They spend the rest of the day playing around at the bungalow. The afternoon is warm enough to go swimming, so Harry puts Millie in her new tiny orange swimming suit and Splashappy armbands and he, Louis, and Liam spend time ferrying her carefully around in the blue water, watching her silly faces and grumbles. When spots of pink crop up on the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks, Harry bundles her in a warm flannel and her lacy white sun hat, and Millie sits with Zayn on the pool deck, drawing pictures with chunky crayons, and the rest of the boys play an intense game of chicken that Niall will swear for years after nearly cost him his left eye.

They set up a barbecue in the evening, and Anne, Robin, Gemma and Eleanor, and Louis’ family come in to celebrate Millie’s first birthday. The girls all scoop Millie up and rush her inside to try on a new party dress, and Niall, Liam, Zayn, and Robin chat like old pals while they set up the grill and start testing coals. Harry and Louis head into the kitchen with the mums to make the rest of the food – cutting potatoes and aubergine, brushing marinade over chicken breasts, doctoring up a pot of beans.

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” Anne says, and kisses the side of Harry’s head as he slices through a courgette. “Can you believe she’s a year old?”

“I can’t believe anything that’s true about my life,” Harry says honestly, and they all laugh. “Really! I mean, basically, I’m in a band that’s got a number one single, right, and that’s just bizarre, and I’ve got a tiny little baby who’s not so very tiny-little anymore, and that’s sad, a bit. It’s all weird, really.”

“And we live in Ashley Cole’s old flat,” Louis points out. “Adds a certain patina to everything as well.”

“Patina?” Harry asks, holding in a laugh as he glances at Louis.

“You and Zayn aren’t the only ones who know _words_ ,” Louis says loftily, and flicks the seeds from a tomato at Harry. 

They roughhouse brightly, slipping the guts from aubergine skins and tomato innards down each other’s shirts and into pockets, hands sliding all over each other. When they’re so intertwined, Harry all wrapped around Louis while they laugh, they can’t see Jay and Anne exchange a knowing look over their heads, a sadly hopeful smile, before barking, “Boys! Not in the kitchen! Be adults, please!”

They all eat outside near the pool, milling around grazing on grilled vegetable salads and warm baked potatoes and halloumi with their chicken. Millie’s new dress has a round, full skirt that swishes when she swivels her hips, so she dances around showing off for everyone, lifting the skirt to boast her round baby potbelly and crawling when her legs get tired, getting mud all over her new red tights. After the food is all cleared away, leftovers in the refrigerator so the boys and Millie can munch tomorrow, and the sky is getting chilly and blue, Harry hoists Millie onto his lap and she cuddles close, yawning sleepily. 

She pats Harry’s face, then looks around for Louis. “Mup?”

Louis leans over and kisses the crest of her forehead. “Yes, sweetie-bean?”

“Daddy! Muppie! Bee! Go!” She flaps her hands, then smudges her face into Harry’s chest again. Harry brushes her hair back and gently traces the shell of her ear with his fingertips. Harry swallows as Louis slides onto the picnic bench beside them and presses right up close to his side, Millie smiling sleepily up at Louis. 

“H, are you crying _again_?”

“She’s just got so big,” Harry sniffles. “Can you believe, a year ago we didn’t even know her yet?”

“We barely knew each other,” Louis points out. “None of us.”

“It’s just crazy,” Harry says, and sniffs again. “I just – everything was awful, I guess, for a bit there. And then… there was you, and the band, and the X Factor, and – and then a year ago, Millie was born and everything’s so – it’s complicated, like. I don’t know that I can be like, ‘oh everything is great,’ but I’m just generally really happy now, basically, and I just love Millie so much.”

Louis smiles and pets Millie’s flyaway curls, then scratches Harry behind the ear, fluffing through _his_ curls. “We all do, H.”

“And you,” Harry says earnestly, his green eyes wide and round. “I love you so much for everything, Louis, really. I could never have done this year without you. Really, really, basically, I love you so much.” He smiles at Louis, then looks up and around at Liam and Zayn and Niall. “I mean, you always see bands and stuff like, saying they’re just like a family, but – ” Harry pauses and wipes his eyes, and Millie looks up with concern to pat his face again, just in case that will help. “You’re like, we actually really are a family. You’re all Millie’s family and that makes you my family, too, and I’m just – thank you for sticking around for the last year.”

“Don’t be daft,” Zayn says gruffly. He wraps himself around the back of Harry’s shoulders and gives Harry a squeeze before tickling Millie under the chin to make her squeal. “We love you, you dolt. And your genius baby.”

Liam and Niall chime in with similar sentiments, but Louis just rests his head on Harry’s shoulder, sharing Millie’s eye-line. He knows what he wants to say, but he _can’t_ \-- especially not with the boys all around, and on a fun day with all of their families, and it’s Millie’s day, her very first birthday.

Daisy and Phoebe carry out a huge vanilla-on-vanilla cake, spotted carefully by Gemma and Eleanor and flanked by Jay, Anne, and Robin, and everyone sings Millie happy birthday. The twins help her blow out the candles, and Millie reaches into the middle of the cake to extract a good chunk of icing before Harry can stop her.

“Mmm!” Millie crows, frosting all over her face. “Guss! Mmm!”

“Is she calling icing ‘guts’?” Niall asks. He eats another huge forkful of cake even as Liam, Eleanor, and Fizzy push their own cake away at the idea of it being frosted in guts. “You’ve got a weird baby, Hazza. She’s weird.”

“She’s not weird,” Harry defends, smoothing back Millie’s curls.

Millie raises her slimy frosting-hands and cackles. “Guss! Mmm!”

•••

After they return to London, things feel… different, between Harry and Louis, even when Millie isn’t around. It’s neither better nor worse than it’s been, but there’s a charge that wasn’t there before, and Louis just keeps waiting, just keeps trying to open his mouth and say, _so remember when you said you loved me, was that like platonic or like – like how I love you? Maybe?_ but it never seems the time.

There are photos at Starbucks to take with Eleanor and lunches to go to with Niall because they’re all trying harder to be friends with each other, too, and rehearsals all day and media training reminders after they tweet things about willies and fannies and trading buttplugs with McFly. And Louis still goes out at night; he knows Harry doesn’t like it. Sometimes he goes with Zayn, and it’s really nothing at all, just a lark, but sometimes – it’s not. And he goes alone. Once, after they’ve flown back from Lake Placid, he stays out all night and when he wakes up, the guy, David, is making breakfast. He’s standing at the stove with a pan of eggs and kippers sizzling away; his trackies are slung low on his hips and he’s tapping his toes to the beat of a song on Radio1.

There are two plates on the table. Two mugs of tea.

“Heya,” David says, smiling at Louis. He’s tall and pretty and thin and he has thick hair and dimples at the base of his back. “How’d you fancy your eggs?”

Louis swallows and clutches the shoes he’s carrying closer to his chest. “Oh, I – can’t stay. I’m sorry. Got, like, work and stuff.”

“Right,” David says, nonplussed. “Yeah, I bet you’re busy with a new single. I hope you don’t mind I’m a bit of a fan. I won’t say anything to anyone. It’s not my business to tell. Sure you don’t fancy any food? I’m really good with kippers.”

Louis swallows and shakes his head – and puts on his shoes, since sneaking out is no longer an option. 

David is beautiful and _kind_ , which is very very new for Louis with this, and the sex was fantastic and Louis was even almost sober for most of the night. But he just wants to go home to Harry and clean up messes on the carpeting and run around trying to catch a freebird Millie before she wees in the kitchen and collapse on the sofa with Harry at the end of a ridiculously long day and lie there for a while, too tired even to drink beer, with their thighs pressed together from hip to knee.

“Sorry,” Louis apologizes. “I’ve just got to go. Thanks for the night, though, that was great, really. Really, that was _great_.” He wiggles his eyebrows for comedic effect and David laughs.

“Alright,” David says. He presses the mug of tea into Louis’ hands all the same. “Take this. Bit cold out, and no offense love, but you look like you rode hard and got put away wet.” He winks, and Louis feels the tips of his ears blush. David smiles and kisses Louis’ cheek, up high near the dark circles beneath Louis’ tired eyes. “Can I have your number?”

“Erm.” Louis scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, sure.” He programs it into David’s Blackberry and nods. “I’ll erm, yeah. Thanks for the tea.”

“I’ll see you,” David says, and his voice is light. He’s already turned back to the stove to turn his kippers; there’s no pressure to kiss him or make the good-bye romantic or promising. 

When Louis gets home, Millie zooms over in her toddle-chair and throws her arms around Louis’ leg. She wipes her messy face against the side of his trousers and grins up at him, remnants of mashed mango still on her tongue. “Muppie, Muppie, Muppie! Bee!”

“Good morning, little bean,” Louis murmurs, bending down to kiss the top of her head gently. “Where’s your daddy?”

Millie zooms off again, towards the kitchen, babbling brightly. Louis toes his shoes off and follows, and there’s Harry: standing at the stove with a pan of eggs and bacon sizzling away; his trackies are slung low on his hips and he’s tapping his toes to the beat of a song on Radio1. Louis’ favorite mug is waiting beside the tea kettle, because Louis won’t drink tea that anyone else – besides his mum – has brewed.

And Harry knows that. Tall, pretty Harry with his crazy curls all askew in the morning, and his stupid four nipples, and his stupid v-muscles leading into the front of his trackies. 

“Morning,” Louis offers. He steps behind Harry to the tea kettle and lets his hand brush over the base of Harry’s back, where his skin is so warm. “Y’alright?”

“’M alright,” Harry confirms. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “I’m good. Anything exciting happen at the after-party last night?”

“Actually,” Harry says, and he looks very intently at the eggs he’s frying up, “You know, erm, Cazza? Like – Caroline Flack?”

“Yeah, H,” Louis laughs. He sets the kettle on. “I know Caroline; we were kinda on her show last night.”

“Right,” Harry stammers. “Erm, well, basically – basically we kinda got to talking, and erm, I kissed her. And I think we’re going out on Tuesday. Erm, she mentioned Asia de Cuba, and I was kinda, well I hoping maybe you didn’t mind watching Millie? But if you do, you know, Zayn said – Zayn said he’d do it. Oh, also he got off with Perrie Little Mix in the bartender’s supply cupboard and they broke a bottle of Goldschläger and he wouldn’t stop singing that he threw some glitter and made it rain. It was really bad.”

Louis wipes his hand over his mouth, his heart hammering hollowly in his chest, and he nods. “Yeah, sure, um – Tuesday, you said? Yeah, I can watch Mills on Tuesday night.”

Fortunately, they’re so busy for the next two weeks that Louis barely has time to think about how he and Harry are almost never home at the same time anymore – if Harry goes out in the evening with Caroline, Louis is in with Millie. If Louis goes out to the clubs, Harry stays in. Either way, the other is asleep by the time they get home. 

Millie gets another ear infection three days before the album launch, but this time, Louis is prepared – and Harry isn’t home. Louis calls the doctor for a scrip and bundles Millie into the kangaroo to take her up to pick her meds. He gives her eardrops and cuddles with her on the sofa, watching Pingu, until she falls asleep on his chest, and he keeps rubbing her back in small circles. When Harry gets home around two in the morning, Louis just tells him that everything’s under control, and he doesn’t mind sleeping out on the couch tonight if it means not waking Millie. 

The next morning, Harry dotes on Millie and even skips an interview with Capital FM promoting Up All Night to stay home with her, cuddled up and reading books about animals and watching Pingu. Jones is furious, but one interview missing one member in the grand scheme of the band won’t hurt much. He lies low for most of the promotions in the last few days, preoccupied with checking up on Millie in her collapsible playpen shared with tiny, tiny baby Lux and measuring her temperature with sweet kisses to the forehead.

On the day of the album release, when they skyrocket on iTunes and beyond all of their wildest dreams, somehow their _lives_ have come to _a race to #1 album in the UK against fucking Rihanna of all people; they sang her songs on the X Factor_ , Harry doesn’t go out to party with the lads. They all split ways after dinner anyway; Niall and Zayn are going out to some hiphop club in Camden, while Liam goes out with Danielle and their respective parents. Louis is meant to be photographed leaving somewhere posh and members’ only with Eleanor; “the party boy settling down with his lady.”

And they do go to Jalouse, but in the cab on the way there, Louis gets a text from David. _I bought the album x good show xx meet up?_

Louis tells him the name of a club where they can meet. He kisses Eleanor on the cheek when they part at midnight with a, “Thanks, love. My best to Gemma.”

And then Louis goes somewhere else – all the way across the city from where he’s texted David that they can meet up. He liked David. But he doesn’t want to have liked him, and he doesn’t like him right now.

Harry wakes up disoriented in the dark, wondering at the time and what’s woken him. The monitor is silent and glowing fuzzily red on his nightstand so he knows it wasn’t Millie; the rain on the window patters as steadily and quietly as it ever has, so it wasn’t a storm. It takes him a moment of rubbing his face in sleepy, quiet consternation before he notices the weight on his bed and the fleeting smell of alcohol and sweat and something – else, bright and hot and dirty.

“Louis?” he whispers groggily. His voice just comes out as a rasp. “Y’alright?”

He reaches out an arm and clicks on his lamp, but Louis’ hand is there to catch his wrist and Harry only gets a bleary glimpse of Louis with his hair plastered in sweat and pupils like shark-eyes and a splotchy stain on his striped shirt before Louis clicks the lamp off again and they’re in darkness.

“Y’alright?” Harry asks again, sitting up against the pillows.

“You know,” Louis begins in a dreamy, long-gone voice, “If she weren’t dating your sister, I think I could really love Eleanor. I think it’d be nice. Have a girlfriend, a fit girlfriend. Girls always smell nice, you know. Clean, like.”

Harry blinks and the clock reads 4:16 in the morning and it’s too early. “Lou… are you really alright? Do I need to – do you need hospital?”

“I’m fine,” Louis says, and he starts to laugh, weight shifting on Harry’s mattress. “I’m totally fine. Every boy band needs a secret gay one. Me and Lance Bass will start a club with Stephen Gately. No, wait, he’s dead. Poor Stephen Gately.” Louis’ weight shifts on the mattress again and then suddenly his feathered hair is tickling Harry’s chest. 

Harry rubs Louis’ back and scratches his fingers up through Louis’ damp hair, making him purr.

Louis sighs and his breath is too hot and especially wet against Harry’s skin. “You always smell nice, too. I love your smell.” He huffs out and Harry feels Louis’ eyelashes flutter against his chest. “You smell like when things were easy.”

Harry closes his eyes and keeps rubbing the other boy’s shoulders. “Louis...”

“And you know, I feel really badly for Eleanor,” Louis continues, changing topics and strains of thought from one moment to the next. “I do. Not because Gemma’s not lovely, because Gemma’s really lovely, she’s so lovely, all the Styleses are really, really lovely… but just because I’m not lovely. I’m – I’m messy, you know? This is messy. Makes her messy.” He rubs his chin over Harry’s sternum and the stubble scratches. “I’m messy. I’m not lovely. Not lovely like the Styleses.”

Harry threads his fingers through Louis’ hair quietly, trying to find words that wouldn’t be wasted. But Louis’ breath evens out and he falls asleep there with his face against Harry’s chest. Harry sits awake for a long time, listening to Millie breathe on the monitor glowing at his bedside and feeling Louis’ pulse beat slow and strong beneath his fingertips.

The bed is cold and Harry’s neck is sore when he wakes the next morning. The nest of pigeons that live on the windowsill are flapping their wings against the glass and it sounds like a flurry of drums, so it takes a moment before Harry realizes that what really roused him is the sound coming from the baby monitor, glowing green now with Millie’s happy giggling.

Harry rubs his eyes and rolls his neck and moves to get out of bed, throw on some pants, and steal a pair of Louis’ ridiculous animal slippers because the weather’s turning over to the space between autumn and winter and the floor is cold in the mornings. But then the monitor picks up the reason for Millie’s laughter and Harry pauses, one leg in and one leg out of his trackies.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to kiss you good-night, baby beans,” Louis says. “I went out. I know, I know, there’s nothing quite so nice as your little face and your dad, but sometimes – well, I’m not your mum. I’m your Mup and I’m glad but I’m not – your dad’s got Caroline, and sometimes I get a bit lonely being just the Mup around here. But,” Louis continues, and Millie yells _Mup!_ , “I don’t regret going out, but I do have to say, Miss Milliebean, that you better be good today because I feel quite like shit.”

“Chow?” Millie asks.

“Yes,” Louis agrees. “Chow. Whatever that means. Now you and I are gonna go make some Yorkshire tea and I’m going to take paracetamol. Right?”

“Tee!” Millie agrees.

“That’s right!” Louis sounds delighted and Harry hears the smacking of a kiss to Millie’s head. “Yorkshire Tea. Lovely tea. And you’re lovely, Millie Styles. Lovely, lovely Styleses.”

Harry feels his heart twist just a bit in his chest and reaches over to shut off the monitor. He pulls his pants the rest of the way up and swipes his hair off his face before padding through to Louis’ room and stuffing his feet into a pair of badger slippers. When he gets to the kitchen, Millie’s bouncing in her high chair with a handful of Peach & Banana Rice Porridge in her mouth (and all over her ear) while Louis leans heavily on the counter, waiting on the kettle.

“Morning,” Harry greets them both, stifling a yawn. “Can you make me a cup?”

“Obviously,” Louis says. “Wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I didn’t.”

Snorting, Harry shuffles over to give Millie a careful kiss around the globs of porridge in her hair and all over her face. “I see you’re still shunning proper spoon usage.”

“Spoon!” Millie informs him, banging it against the tray of her highchair. She babbles a long string of syllables sagely and Harry nods solemnly. 

“Yes,” he agrees, “That’s a good point.” He eases the soft plastic spoon out of her chubby fingers and fills it with porridge scraped from her cheek. “But I think that you’ll find you’re less hungry later if you get more of your breakfast into your mouth rather than try to like osmosis it through your scalp or suck it in through your ear canal.”

“Osmosis?” Louis asks dryly from his perch against the countertop.

“Sometimes I say words like osmosis.” Harry shrugs. “That movie, _Osmosis Jones_? That was good. Has Liam seen it? Liam would like it.”

“He would like it,” Louis says, “And, he would learn something. We should encourage that more in little Liam.”

Louis winces when he straightens up as the kettle whistles and Harry frowns, giving Millie a window of opportunity to get another good handful of porridge oozing through her fingers. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Louis tries gingerly, pouring the hot water into two mugs. “I’m fine. Just, um – yeah, I’m fine.”

“Was it the – whatever you took last night; have you hurt yourself or are you sick?”

“No,” Louis says, a little incredulous laugh caught in the back of his throat. “No, I’m just.” He looks down at his mug of tea and scratches his eyebrow with one crooked finger, refusing to meet Harry’s concerned gaze. “I’m fine, H. Just… sore.”

“What – ” Harry’s brow furrows, but his eyes fly open comically wide as he understands. “Oh! Oh. Alright. Well, alright. Er, do you like… need… anything?”

Louis does look up this time with a wry smile. “Erm, no. Thanks, but I don’t think that’s really your purview.”

Harry studies the now-fascinating porridge in Millie’s bowl. “Right. Yes. Not. Mine. No.”

Louis doesn’t touch him when he delivers the tea, and Harry pretends that the unpleasant and unsettled, sloshy out-of-balance feeling in the pit of his stomach is solely down the fingerful of porridge that Millie shoves curiously into his nose.

•••

They ink a record deal in the United States. _The United States_. They’d all bantered about it, but they’d never – never – really thought that it could happen, not for them. They have to sit through seven hours of meetings about the new marketing direction for the US demographic, where, apparently, they’re going to be virginal tweens, even Harry with his baby.

It’s quite a difference from their reality, with Harry and Louis alternating nights out but sharing breakfast in the morning with Millie: perfectly equal and perfectly out of balance with each other, well and truly, for the first time.

They fly out to Ireland and Niall’s gran makes such a fuss over Millie that Millie starts following her around like a duckling and calling her “Granna!” 

On the afternoon of the first cold, wintry day in London – snow falling outside the windows but melting before it hits the ground – Harry wanders into Louis’ bedroom in his towel as he gets ready for his date with Caroline.

“I think I’m gonna have sex with her,” Harry offers shyly, looking down at where his fingers are twisting in his lap.

“Am I supposed to be surprised?” Louis asks, forcing a little smirk onto his face. He picks up a stuffed elephant from the floor and waves it at Harry. “You’ve got a kid, after all. I don’t think anyone on Earth thinks you’re a virgin.”

“It’s just – I haven’t – erm, since, since – since Clare?” Harry splutters, his ears a bit pink. 

Louis’ jaw drops a bit even as Harry looks up at him. “That’s a lie. I’ve _seen_ you!”

“Not actual like, sex-sex,” Harry mutters, shaking out his hair once, twice, three times in a row. “Just blowjobs and – erm, like anal a few times.”

Louis feels a bit punched in the gut. “W – w – wha – woe – who…?” he trails off, stuck in a bit of a loop.

“Just some fangirls,” Harry says dismissively, waving his hand. “I just – like, every time I would try – it reminded me of Elisa poking the holes in the condoms and then it reminded me of like, _I have a kid, I have a fucking kid, I can’t handle having more kids_ so I just… erm… didn’t?”

Louis’ still reeling a little and thinks, idly, that his brain probably looks a bit like a cassette caught in a recorder with the tape pulling off its spools and grinding through the gears without making any logical sense or noise. “Why _Caroline_ then?”

“I really like her,” Harry says, stilted, “And – I believe her when she says she doesn’t want kids now.”

“Well, I guess if she’s made it to thirty-two without having any,” Louis mumbles, then feels bad immediately and scoots off to start picking toys and crushed semolina crackers off the floor.

“No, yeah, that’s it,” Harry says, looking up with wide eyes. “She’s got it all figured out, you know? Like – she knows she doesn’t want them and she knows how to take all the precautions not to have them and – I love Millie, I do, I really do, but – ”

“I don’t doubt you,” Louis says quickly. “I know you love her to bits. It’s just a lot of responsibility.”

“Right.” Harry looks down at his hands. “I just… I think I need to get over being so nervous about it, and I do really like her, and – but it’s nice to kind of have like, a buffer. Or like, just – ”

“You don’t need to justify it to me,” Louis assures him, half-pleading, as he ruffles Harry’s hair. “There’s no reason for you to feel guilty. It’s been over a year since last you saw Clare, so. It’s not like you’re betraying her. Or anyone.”

“Right,” Harry mumbles, then stands. “I’m gonna go get ready, then.”

Harry leaves wearing a big, loose black sweater and tight gray jeans. He carries a brown overnight bag with him and worries that it looks too much like a babycare bag; Louis assures him that it doesn’t. 

After Harry kisses Millie’s face until she demurs and squirms away, and Harry’s opened and shut the door five times before Louis finally forcibly pushed him out of the flat, Millie pads her way over and clings onto Louis’ leg.

“Mup,” she chirps. “Daddy? No?”

“No daddy tonight,” Louis agrees, and tosses Millie in the air once. “It’s just you and me, kid.”

Millie giggles happily, then pulls a spelt rusk from the pocket of her dress. She noms on it, staring down at Louis with a wet grin, and wriggles until he cuddles her close to his chest and carries her off to the kitchen to fix boiled hot dogs for dinner. 

After dinner, Louis gives Millie a bath, and she splashes water all over the place and sings a silly little tuneless song that, as far as Louis can tell, is mostly a list of the people Millie knows: _Daddy, Bee, Muppie, Zang, Bee, Lim, Nayyo, Poe, Bee! Lou! Luxie! Bee!_ Louis surprises her with a new toy brontosaurus that he saw walking past a shop in Dublin, and Millie immediately claims it with a bite to the neck.

“Little vampire,” Louis says fondly, plucking Millie out of the tub as the water drains. Millie kicks her feet, splashing yet more water from her legs onto Louis’ shirt, and he dries her around the toy clutched in her arms. 

“Say, little bean,” Louis says thoughtfully as he changes her into a fresh nappy, “What d’you think of potty training you? You can talk and think and walk. That’s all you really need, isn’t it?”

Millie lifts her mouth from the brontosaurus. “No.”

“I dunno,” Louis muses. “Seems you could learn.”

“No!” Millie kicks him hard in the gut, and Louis _ooph_ s.

“Okay,” he wheezes. “You win.”

They play with colored blocks for a while, Louis building small towers and Millie knocking them down, before Louis puts the telly on low with the _Land Before Time_ and lies out on the couch. Millie plays restlessly a bit longer, walrus-crawling on her belly because she’s sleepy, before dragging her new brontosaurus over to the sofa and lifting her arms.

“You ready for a cuddle?” Louis asks, and lifts her up to sit on his belly.

Millie nods and lies down, her head cradled over his heart, and sucks on her fingers as Louis rubs circles over her back and they watch the rest of the movie. Millie falls asleep long before the end, and Louis kisses her forehead when he settles her in her crib. 

Harry still isn’t home in the morning. It doesn’t shock Louis, but he had rather expected for Harry to be back by breakfast.

“Okay,” Louis says. He spoons more Heinz Yogurt Pear up to Millie’s mouth but she scowls and pushes his hand away, shoving a gingerbread rusk into her mouth instead and staring Louis down with challenge in her eyes.

“Bisk,” she preens, wriggling her toes in triumph. “Mmm.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Louis tells her, brushing some curls back from her forehead. “I regret leaving your basket of biscuits out last night.”

“Mine bisk,” Millie chirrups. She gnaws at the little cookie stick for a minute before blinking up at Louis with big green eyes and nudging his chest with her toes. “Mine Daddy, now?”

“He should be home soon, I think,” Louis promises, catching her foot. He pretends to nibble on her toes and Millie shrieks happily with laughter, waving her arms. She drops the rusk and Louis snatches it up quickly, hiding it behind the fruit bowl. He grins at Millie’s crinkled nose and half-toothed smile even as his skin feels a bit itchy, wondering when Harry will come back. How long he’ll stay.

Louis doesn’t remember what his life was like before Mark came around with his mum. If Harry chooses Caroline and she moves in and Louis moves out, Millie won’t even remember these breakfasts and playtimes and napping on Louis’ chest in the afternoon. The thought makes Louis ache.

Millie nudges his wrist with her toes. Louis blinks and smiles at her, giving her a little tickle. “Yes, miss?”

“Bisk,” Millie says plaintively, holding out her hand. “Mine.”

“No, no, no,” Louis says, shaking his head. He loads up the little spoon with more pear yogurt. “You forfeited that fair and square. It’s time for a healthy breakfast.”

“No,” Millie grumbles. “Yucky. Bisk! Mmm!”

“Well, Millie, I’ll tell you,” Louis says thoughtfully, “I do think maybe you’re getting a bit old to have baby mush for breakfast every day. I’m going to have toast and eggs with bacon. Do you want some bits of that?”

“Tee!” Millie enthuses, nodding.

“No, no tea for you, goofball,” Louis says. “But egg! Mm! Toast! Mm! Bacon! Mmm!”

“Egg,” Millie agrees. “Mup egg.”

“That’s right,” Louis chatters, lifting Millie onto his hip. He crosses over to the refrigerator and dips her low, making her shriek and giggle, as he rummages around for the egg carton and bacon to fry up. “We’re gonna make breakfast, Millie! Usually, your dad does that because I am not a good cook. If he doesn’t come back by lunch, then it may be time to bequeath you to Liam or Niall or Zayn, because we’ll starve to death otherwise. But I can do breakfast, and you can help.”

“Gaow?” Millie asks.

“Yes,” Louis agrees. “Gaow.”

Unexpectedly, Millie throws her chubby arms around Louis’ neck and hugs him close, rubbing her face into his collarbone. Her curls tickle beneath his chin and she looks up, beaming. “Gaow, Muppie.”

Louis smiles to himself and kisses the top of Millie’s little head as he starts the burners for two pans. He starts oil in one for his own fried egg, but remembers that the twins had always liked playing with messy handfuls of scrambled egg when they were Millie’s age. Louis kisses Millie’s forehead again and peels her out of the tight octopus-hug she’s got on him to set her down on the countertop. 

“Sit still and be careful,” Louis says seriously, looking into her eyes. Millie nods solemnly, but Louis keeps a hand resting on her head as he reaches up into the cabinet behind her for a small bowl and opens the drawer beneath her chunky legs to get a fork. He smiles at her after. “D’you want to help make your egg?”

“Egg,” Millie agrees again. “Chow froppemmen.”

Louis shrugs. “Sure. Whatever you say.” He sets the bowl down on the countertop beside Millie. She stares, enraptured, at Louis’ hand as he cracks the egg on the side of the bowl and the innards slide in. He pours a bit of milk over them and hands Millie the fork, helping her to hold it a little less like a murder weapon. “Now we’re gonna stir it. Can you show me how you stir?”

Millie babbles as they stir up the scramble mix, a simple song of _blblblblblbl_ that Louis thinks rather fits the look of raw egg.

“Okay,” Louis says after a minute, “All done done stirring.”

“Stir-egg,” Millie informs him solemnly. “Mine.”

“That’s right,” Louis says, and kisses her nose. “Although we’ve got to stop you declaring everything _yours_. Sometimes, things are other people’s.”

“Egg mine,” Millie shrugs. “Muppie mine. Daddy mine. Now?”

“He’ll be here soon,” Louis says again, swinging Millie off the countertop. She shrieks a laugh and kicks her legs happily. Louis sets her down on her increasingly-steady feet and swats her rump once lightly. “Go play,” he urges. “I’ve got to make the bacon and such.”

“B’kin,” Millie agrees. “Mmm!”

Louis smiles as Millie’s bare feet stomp across the kitchen floor to her play kitchen, where she starts banging little pots and pans, copying Louis’ movements as he opens the package of bacon and sets them into both pans to sizzle. He turns on Radio 1 and winks at Millie as he sings along to “Heart Skips a Beat” and Millie abandons her little kitchen to dance in the corner, stomping her feet and waving her arms, curls shaking about. She chirrups, “Oh-eey!” 

“Yeah, Olly,” Louis agrees. “Maybe you can see him soon.” He pauses, then laughs outright: “You dance the same as your dad.”

“I don’t know about that,” Harry says, coming in through the kitchen door. “I think she dances much better.”

“Daddy!” Millie shouts, trotting over. 

Harry picks her up and she leans in to kiss his cheek sloppily. “Good morning, Milliebeans. Were you good for Mup?”

“Egg!” Millie tells him excitedly, knocking her fist against his ear.

“Yeah,” Louis says, “She helped make her egg. Are you hungry, H?”

“No, I ate at Caroline’s,” Harry says. “She had croissants.”

“Oh,” Louis says. All he has to offer are the same breakfast sandwiches as ever. “That’s nice.”

“Proper posh,” Harry agrees. “Things go alright last night?”

“Well, Millie did throw a Skins party,” Louis says. “I came home and there were just babies rolling on E and painting each other and driving lorries into ponds all over the apartment. It was a disaster area.”

“Oh, Millie,” Harry sighs, “What have we told you about those parties?”

“Bee agabo,” Millie shrugs. “Tee!”

Harry kisses her nose. “No drugs,” he says, more firmly than necessary, and Louis doesn’t miss how Harry’s green eyes flick up to stare at him when he says it. “I love you rather a lot, and I need the people I love to be safe. You understand?”

Millie preens and leans back in a wild limbo stretch in Harry’s arms, so he blows a raspberry on her belly like everything is fine. But Louis just swallows, and when Harry glances back up, he nods.

“I do, you know,” Harry murmurs when they’re seated beside each other at the kitchen table watching Millie squish her way through a scrambled egg. “I said it before, but… I know we’ve not seen as much of each other, and – I hope you’re like, happy, basically.”

“Yeah,” Louis says lightly. “’Course. You know me. Live fast and be mischievous. Can’t not be happy.” He swallows and whispers, “And I get – what you said. I’ll stop, I will. I – just kind of exciting, sometimes, but I guess our lives are exciting enough, aren’t they?” He pauses. “Are _you_ happy?”

Harry smiles.

No.

Harry glows.

“I am happy, yeah,” he says. “I just – I feel a bit more like ‘me’ again. It’s good, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “That’s great, Harry. I’m really – Cazza’s – ” Louis pauses and scrubs his hand over his eyes, then takes a sip of tea, and restlessly pats Harry’s wrist, letting his touch linger. “She’s _really_ , really lucky to have you.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	14. Chapter 14

“Okay, Millie,” Harry sings, helping her knock on the door of Liam’s apartment, just down a few floors from their own, “Are you ready to dance with Danielle today?”

“No!” Millie says, nodding her head excitedly, eyes shining. She pats at her blue tutu with great reverence.

“Yes,” Harry corrects her gently, nodding his head. “When you do want to do something, you say ‘yes,’ not ‘no.’ _Yes_.”

“Yish,” Millie mimics, nodding. “Bee yish.”

“Okay,” Harry says, chuckling and knocking at the door again, a bit more loudly. “Close enough. Millie, can you say ‘Danielle’?”

“Danyell,” Millie says obediently. She lifts up her tutu to show off her leotard-clad belly and Harry chides, _no, no; no tummies!_ so Millie stomps her feet twice. 

Liam opens the door of his apartment wearing pyjamas and looking sleepy. “Hello, Millie. Hi, Hazz. Sorry, I woke up a bit late and – I’m still making some breakfast, d’you want anything?”

“Egg!” Millie requests, scooting between Liam’s legs to get into his apartment and explore. “Eggstirbakin.”

Liam looks to Harry. “Does she want an egg? I can see if I have any. I was making a green smoothie.”

Millie whirls around at the word ‘smoothie.’ “Fruit?”

Harry puts his hand on Millie’s back and steers her around into the living room of Liam’s flat. “No, sweetie, you already had your breakfast, remember? Tell Liam what you had for breakfast.”

“Zero!” Millie reports proudly. “Mmm!” She lifts her tutu again and pats her tummy.

Harry pulls her tutu back down exasperatedly. “That’s right, little bean, you had cereal. Tell Liam what kind of cereal you had.”

“Ohhs,” Millie says proudly. “A-Z-E-G-F-E-E-P-O-G.” She smiles proudly at Harry. “Affabet.”

Harry kisses her forehead. “You’re getting closer, I guess.” 

Millie preens, then pushes Harry’s hands away from her shoulders and trots off across Liam’s living room again to crawl under his table and explore the exercise equipment on the other side. She grunts as she tries to push a heavy medicine ball, then sits down hard on her rump and stares at the ball with lowered eyebrows. “No, ball. Up!” She tries to lift the ball again and grumbles. “Up!”

Liam laughs, watching her from the kitchen door. “She’s funny. Danielle’s so excited to get to play with her; she’ll be here soon, she just texted. Are you sure you don’t want any breakfast, Hazz?”

“D’you have orange juice?”

“I have apple,” Liam offers, gesturing to the fridge. “Help yourself.”

Harry pours himself an apple juice, still keeping one eye on Millie in the living room, rolling a smaller medicine ball back and forth across the floor. Liam, too, looks over at Millie, then pours his green smoothie into a glass and drains it in one great, chugging go. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, then looks to Harry. He sets the glass in the sink, opens his mouth, closes it again, and looks back to Harry.

“What, Liam?”

“Where’s Lou this morning?”

Harry looks down at his glass of apple juice. “He erm, I guess a while ago, he met this guy, David? And erm – he’s been seeing him. They’re not, like, boyfriends, I guess, but when Lou goes out now, he mostly goes with David.” He nods, still looking down. “That’s good, though. He comes home… better. Than before.”

Liam’s head cocks just slightly as he surveys Harry. “How do you feel about that?”

Harry looks up. “I dunno. I’m glad he’s not – I’m glad he’s better now. I don’t – if he’s happier, then I’m happier. I mean, he’s my best mate; I want him to be happy. And I’ve got Caroline, so I guess it’s fair.”

“Why wouldn’t it be fair if Louis had a boyfriend and you didn’t have Caroline?” Liam asks quickly, right on the heels of Harry’s words, as he slides in to sit at the kitchen table. He pulls out the other seat and gestures for Harry to sit.

Harry sighs. “I didn’t mean it like that. Stop being such a – ” He cuts himself off with a laugh. “I was gonna say ‘stop being such a dad,’ but that’d be weird and hypocritical or something.”

Liam laughs back. He reaches out to touch Harry’s arm. “It’s okay, though, if you feel weird that Louis’ got a boyfriend.”

“He doesn’t have a boyfriend,” Harry says vehemently. “He said so. They’re just seeing each other.”

There’s a tinkling clatter, and Millie rushes into the kitchen, ducking under Harry’s chair to hide, clinging onto his leg to hide. “No!”

“Millie?” Harry asks, reaching down to rest his hand on Millie’s head. “What did you do?”

“No!” Millie insists. “Affabet!”

Harry looks at Liam. “Do you know what she’s talking about that she broke?”

Liam thinks for a long moment, then slides down off of his chair to sit at Millie’s eye-level beneath the table. He touches her chin gently. “Millie? Was the alphabet on a picture of _Toy Story_?”

Millie nods. “Buzz!”

Liam looks up at Harry. “It’s okay. It was just the frame on a poster, I haven’t got around to hanging it yet. I’ll go clean it up.”

“No, let me,” Harry sighs. “It’s my fault she broke it; I wasn’t watching her.” He pushes his chair back and nudges Millie with his toes. “Tell Liam you’re sorry, bean.”

“Bee,” Millie says earnestly, launching herself at Liam and hugging him around the neck. 

Liam smiles and hugs Millie back before lifting her up to carry her on his shoulders. The tutu frames his face like an absurd blue halo. He claps Harry on the shoulder as Harry trudges out to the living room, dragging a broom and a dustpan. Once Harry is out of earshot, Liam sets Millie down on the countertop and tickles her belly. “Millie… is your daddy okay?”

“No,” Millie says, shaking her head. “Fruit?”

“Sure,” Liam says. He reaches behind Millie for a banana from the red porcelain bowl behind her, and Millie plays with the peel while Liam cuts it into little coins. He gives her half on a paper plate, then hops up on the counter beside her and eats the other half himself. “Now, Millie, was that ‘no’ actually _no_ , or was it how you don’t like to say ‘yes’? Is your daddy okay?”

Millie looks up at Liam with big eyes and shakes her head. “No.” She thinks for a minute, wiping banana-mush into her hair as she tries to sweep her fringe out of her eyes like Harry. “Daddy… Bee… Muppie. Mine. No.”

Liam nods sadly and gently wipes banana out of Millie’s hair with a dish cloth. “That’s what I thought.”

There’s a knock on the doorframe, and both Liam and Millie look up to see Danielle grinning at them and wearing black dancing clothes, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. “Hello, hello! Millie, are you ready to dance?”

“No!” Millie cries, nodding. She pauses, then shakes her head and says, “Yish.” She pauses again, then nods her head and corrects herself. “Yish.”

Danielle laughs and comes over to lift Millie down from the counter. She sets her down on the floor, then kisses Liam even as he sits on the countertop. “Good morning, love. You taste like banana.”

“Sorry,” Liam says, his eyes soft. He runs a loose curl of Danielle’s hair between his fingers. “Are you ladies going to take the living room?”

Danielle nods. “As soon as Harry’s done vacuuming. Was there an accident?”

Millie looks abashed. “Affabet,” she explains ruefully. “Buzz. Ball.”

Danielle crouches down to Millie’s eye-level and fixes Millie’s gummy hair. “That’s alright,” she promises. She takes a few pins out of her own hair and fastens Millie’s fringe back in a little puff away from her face. “Accidents happen for everyone sometimes.”

Millie considers Danielle carefully. “Danyell girl?”

“Yes,” Danielle confirms, smiling. She straightens Millie’s blue tutu. “I’m a girl, just like you. I like your tutu very much.”

Millie nods, preening, and holds out her tutu as she bounces onto her tip-toes three times. “Bee girl! Luxie girl. No dizzar.” Millie reaches out and grabs a handful of Danielle’s ponytail, tugging on it lightly. “Ooh!”

Danielle smiles and gently eases Millie’s fingers off her hair. “Thank you, little miss. Do you want to dance?” She stands and holds out her hand. Millie grins up at her with eight shining teeth and grips onto three of Danielle’s fingers, and she trots alongside Danielle as they make their way into the living room. 

Liam can hear them exchanging a few words with Harry, and then Harry comes into the kitchen with a rubbish sack full of broken glass. He smiles apologetically at Liam and drops it in the bin.

“Sorry about that, again,” Harry says. “It looks like your poster’s okay, though. Erm, are you still alright if I leave? I was gonna meet Caroline at hers for a bit until tea? Louis’ll be around in about two hours to get Mills.”

Liam nods. “Of course that’s alright. Tell her I said hello.”

An hour and a half later, after catching his breath in Caroline’s bed, Harry turns his head on her lavender-scented pillows and says, “Oh, Liam said to tell you hi.”

Caroline laughs, still a little breathless, and pats Harry’s chest. “Were you thinking about _Liam_ this whole time?”

“ _No_ ,” Harry says fiercely, and rolls over to cage Caroline beneath his arms. He sucks a kiss into the side of her neck. “I was thinking about how I still can’t believe I get to touch you, ‘cause you’re out of my league.”

“You don’t just get to touch me.” Caroline nips at his lower lip playfully. “You get to fuck me.”

Harry hums low in his chest and slides down the length of her body to mouth at her hip, his tongue dragging in a delicate line over the inside crease of her thigh.

Then Harry’s phone rings, and he groans, dropping his head a moment, before shifting back up the bed to pick up the phone. Caroline snorts a laugh through her nose and ruffles his insane bedhead, then steps out of bed and slides into a long silk robe. Harry watches, still boyishly awed, as her tanned skin disappears into the clinging blue fabric and she disappears through her bedroom door, long hair dusting the small of her back.

After he’s finished with his phone call, just a few minutes, Caroline pads back into the room barefooted and hands Harry a mug of tea. He smiles and sips gratefully.

Caroline pulls the blankets back and slides into bed again, and they sit propped up on pillows to drink their tea.

“Is everything alright?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry says. “Just Louis checking in. Millie was taking a baby dance class this morning with Danielle, you know, Liam’s girlfriend, for that problem with her legs, and he says she was fussy and tired after, but she’s okay.”

“Poor little thing,” Caroline says. “I hope you get that all sorted for her.”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah. I think she’ll be alright.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “She’s learning the alphabet now, too, and she’s been trying to spell everything she sees that’s got letters on it, but she only really knows like… five. She broke one of Liam’s Pixar poster frames this morning trying to get a better look at where it said ‘Buzz.’” He smiles fondly down at his teacup, and Caroline leans over to kiss his cheek softly.

Caroline studies the lip of her teacup for a long moment, then takes a speculative sip. “Do… I ever get to meet her?”

Harry pauses with his cup halfway to his mouth. “Erm… d’you want to?”

Caroline shrugs one shoulder. “If it’s alright with you.” She pauses to drink another sip of tea and consider her next words. “I know that you and Louis have your own sort of family dynamics with her, and – I don’t want to try to change anything there. I know I couldn’t even if I did want. And if Millie doesn’t want to meet me, then that’s alright, too.”

“No, I think she’d be excited,” Harry says honestly. “She doesn’t know many women she’s not related to, and she loves X Factor. If you brought Olly, I think she’d pee herself in joy ‘cause she’s in love with him. Of course, she might pee herself anyway. She’s a baby, and she does that.”

Caroline laughs and shakes her head. “You’re so weird, Hazza.”

Harry takes a sip of tea. “Yeah, you can meet her. Erm… how d’you feel about Christmas day, maybe around lunch? You could come to Holmes Chapel and meet my mum, too,” he offers shyly.

“Okay,” Caroline says, and she smiles at Harry, her eyes warm. Without all of her X Factor makeup, she looks softer and younger, with the same laugh lines around her eyes that Louis already has at only almost twenty. Harry leans across the mattress to kiss her once, gently, his green eyes still open. Caroline rests her hand over his cheek and strokes her thumb affectionately over his temple before tracing the dark bags under his eye. “I’m really quite fond of you, Harry.”

He smiles. “I’m quite fond of you, too.” He kisses her again. “I think Millie will like you. She always likes when there are other girls around. Although a lot of the time, she gets confused between girls and lizards.”

Caroline barks a laugh and rolls her eyes again. “Honestly! Hazza, you are the _weirdest_ , and I don’t know why I keep you around!”

Harry’s eyes glint mischievously, and he takes her tea mug out of her hands to set it on the dresser. Dark tea sploshes over the side and pools on the nightstand like a badge. “I’ll have to remind you,” he murmurs into the skin of her neck.

Harry would be lying if he said that he hadn’t had much sex before Caroline – even before Clare, Harry’d had what Will had always deemed as “more than his fair share” of sex. But it had never quite been like it is with Caroline, who knows exactly what she wants and how her body works and what she expects out of Harry. He takes time just to kiss down the long column of her back, his lips nibbling at every knobbly vertebra; he touches his tongue to her ankles and the white bends of her knees and dips into her navel before fitting his mouth between her legs. 

He whispers the most decadently filthy things in her ear as he moves inside her in long snapping sways of his hips into hers before rolling them over to give Caroline free reign to circle her hips above him, and he murmurs endearments about her nipples before tipping her back so he could move to suck them between his lips, holding her so close that they were barely moving at all –

And then Caroline flips them again so Harry is above her, bearing down to slam into her in bruising thrusts with her knee crooked over his shoulder. She bites her lip and with trembling hands brushes his hair back away from his sweaty face, then lets one hand run down the long length of his pale back, resting on his waist for a moment to feel the muscles beneath his skin before she lets her hand caress down over the slight swell of his arse. She taps her other hand against Harry’s slack lips and he groans, grateful, as she prods two fingers into his mouth for him to suck as he keeps fucking into her, fast and shallow now, making her breath hitch.

“Yeah,” Harry breathes, his tongue twisting around her fingertips, “Yeah, yeah.”

Caroline leans up to kiss his throat once shakily. “Such a dirty boy.”

Her hand keeps sliding over his skin and then, making Harry’s movements shudder and still a moment, one wet fingertip ghosts between the cheeks of Harry’s arse – and achingly slowly, pushes into him: slow and meticulous to the first knuckle, and a determined slide in the hilt as Harry gasps and his eyes screw shut as he drops his head to rest against her shoulder, her hips rolling up beneath him to fuck herself on his cock as he mouths greedily at the salt-skin of her shoulder, overwhelmed by _sex_.

Still, Harry holds on until Caroline comes first, arching up beneath him and sliding her finger out of him to grip his hips hard; long, varnished nails leaving red marks. Before she’s finished, Harry comes, too, biting a blue bruise into the soft skin at the inside of her arm.

They both collapse a moment, breathing and sweaty with eyes closed, before Harry carefully holds the base of the condom and pulls out of her. 

He ties off the end and drops it in the bin at the side of her bed, where it lands on the used rubber from the morning – and three from the other night. “You need to take out your rubbish. That’s gross.”

“I’m starting a collection,” Caroline jokes, giving him a shove. “I’m going to sell them on eBay; a Make Your Own Millie Styles kit. It’s like an E-Z-Bake Oven.”

“I don’t think you should use those to frost cakes,” Harry says thoughtfully.

“Ugh!” Caroline groans, and shoves his shoulder so hard that Harry overbalances and tumbles out of bed, landing in a heap of clothes on the floor. “Get out of my house, disgusting little boy!”

Harry stands and his knees buckle once, making Caroline smirk. He straightens himself out on the bedside table, then checks the time on his phone.

“Shit, yeah, I should go,” he says. “Erm, I’ll just – I’ll ask Millie, and erm, my mum, about Christmas, then? And I’ll give you a call?”

“Sure,” Caroline says, sitting up in bed, still naked to make Harry stare. “Break a leg on the tour, Hazza. And say hello back to Liam for me, and Louis and the boys.”

Harry smiles, and leans over the bed with his jeans half-on to kiss her lips sweetly. “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.”

•••

>   
> **Will Millie get a new mum for Christmas?: Teen dad Harry Styles seen leaving home of cougar Caroline Flack**  
>  _One Direction heartthrob sets his sights on tv presenter 15 years his senior_  
>  One Direction’s young stars seem to have a mummy complex, or perhaps an X Factor complex: band member Zayn Malik, 18, dated fellow X Factor competitor Rebecca Ferguson, now 25, for four months earlier this year (Ferguson is the single mother of two children, Karl, 4, and Lillie May, 6), and Liam Payne is currently dating X Factor dancer Danielle Peazer, 23. But scandalous Harry Styles, the baby of the band at 17 and father of one, Millie, aged one year, has set the bar by dating cougar Caroline Flack, 32.
> 
> “Harry’s the more mature one of the pair,” explains a friend of the pair. “It seems backward, but really Harry’s the one who gets to let loose a bit with Cazza. She’s a break from having to be a professional with the band and a dad at home.”
> 
> Harry is allegedly no stranger to older women: the unknown, alleged mother of his baby was nearly four years his senior, as sources say she was around 20 when Harry was 16. 
> 
> Fans of One Direction seem to have a mixed opinion of Harry and Miss Flack:
> 
> “I think it’s so gross… they’re like the same age difference as Harry and Millie! Cazza could be her nan!” writes one Twitter user.
> 
> “I’m glad Harry is finally dating someone. Now Louis can move out and Millie can have a proper mum,” argues another.
> 
> What do you think of Harry and Caroline? Will Millie get a new mum for Christmas?

•••

The first stops of the tour go spectacularly well: the crowd is really there for _them_ all the way, so no one boos or scolds or jeers at anything Harry says or does. Millie is enamored with tiny Lux sharing her playpen in the green room at performances, and doggedly tries to teach Lux the alphabet as she knows it – despite Lux being so little, still, that she can’t even sit up on her own or roll over; it doesn’t seem to deter Millie. Gemma and Eleanor come to see the show in Manchester.

David comes to the show in Westcliff-on-Sea, and he gives Louis a simple, lovely bouquet of green-striped carnations and jonquils. 

“I thought it was like a play,” he admits bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “I wasn’t really sure of the etiquette.”

Louis smiles and takes the flowers before kissing David chastely on the mouth. Harry tries very hard not to gloat in the pit of his stomach that Louis’ eyes didn’t crinkle at the corners when he smiled.

The last show before the Christmas hols is also the last show before Louis’ twentieth birthday. Harry knows that Louis is suffering a bit for it, because he has an abject fear of aging – Harry doesn’t understand it, really, but he tries to be sympathetic. He, Louis, and Millie share a hotel room in Manchester that night before the last show, and they curl up all three together on one bed to watch _The Land Before Time II_. Harry calls down to room service and orders up a massive cake to be sent to their room, remembering the time in Amsterdam, and when it arrives, Millie shrieks _guss!_ and rushes forward before they can catch her to grab a handful from the middle of the cake.

Louis laughs, then, and – Harry does _not_ note with a hot wriggle of pleasure in the base of his gut – his eyes nearly shut, so crinkled at the corners with genuine joy. 

At the evening Manchester show, Harry disappears from the stage during the Twitter Q&A, and he comes back carrying Millie in his arms. She’s wearing her pyjamas with little bear slippers and sucking a dummy sleepily, wearing her enormous pink noise-canceling headphones to protect her ears from the overexcited roar of the crowd.

Harry hands Millie to Louis and she curls up in his arms immediately, cuddling her face against the sweaty side of Louis’ neck, and Harry leads the crowd and the band in singing ‘Happy Birthday to You’ to Louis. He kisses Louis’ cheek, then Millie’s ear, at the end of the song and the splitting shriek of _LARRY STYLINSON AAAAHHH!_ is deafening.

But the glow in Louis’ blue eyes is worth it, Harry thinks. He and Louis walk Millie off the stage and deposit her back, grumbling, in Lou Teasdale’s waiting arms to go back to her nighttime nap in the green room, and then, arm-in-arm, Harry and Louis walk back to the stage.

At nearly the end of the show, Louis leans over to whisper in Harry’s ear over the dulled, rhythmic roar of the crowd. _Thanks, H._

Harry leans back and puts his mouth against Louis’ ear to answer. _You’re welcome. I just want you to be happy. For your birthday, and whatever else._

When the photos from the show hit the internet, it looks like they were kissing.

The plan for the holiday is for the Tomlinsons and Styleses to spend Christmas Eve – Louis’ birthday – together at the Bungalow, and then Christmas Day apart as their own families… when Caroline will drive up from London and meet Millie and Anne and Robin and Gemma in Holmes Chapel. Louis and Harry spend an extra night at the hotel in Manchester, because it’s closer to the Bungalow than London is, and Louis drives their little trio up to the Bungalow early on the morning of his birthday.

“So, how does it feel?” Harry asks, his voice rusty from sleep, as they stop in a small shop to get breakfast for a whining, fussy Millie in the backseat and sweet buns and tea for themselves somewhere near Stockport. “Being twenty? You’re a proper adult now.”

“You’re more adult than I am,” Louis argues. “You know how to cook.”

“And clean,” Harry jibes, elbowing Louis in the ribs.

“No,” Millie grumbles from her perch in Louis’ arms, rubbing her eyes. “Bee eggstirbakin.”

“I’m sorry, sweetiebean,” Harry apologizes. He kisses her round cheek. “You can’t have eggs just yet. How about some cereal? Do you want O’s?”

“No!” Millie grumbles. “Eggstirbakin!”

Harry sighs and they order Millie an egg-and-bacon roll against their better judgment, and after they pull into the gravel drive outside the Bungalow, Harry spends the next half-hour vacuuming bits of egg and bacon and crust out of the backseat of Louis’ car while Louis spends half an hour washing breakfast out of Millie’s hair and off her face.

Christmas Eve, and Louis’ birthday, is a happy affair once Millie’s eaten and is happy again. Gemma buys her another dress as a gift like a new tradition, and Millie trots around showing it off to everyone, explaining, “Bee girl! No tummies.”

And then, repeatedly, she lifts her dress to show off her tummy anyway, and Harry chases around behind her pulling it back down.

Jay gets weepy that her baby is twenty years old and a proper man now, and Louis gets weepy that his mum is weepy. Harry helps Anne in the kitchen to prepare and serve a big chicken roast for early tea so Louis can have a bit of time on his own with his mum and sisters and Millie.

“Do you think he’s having a nice holiday?” Anne asks Harry as she checks on the bread rolls in the oven.

“Yeah, I’d guess,” Harry says. He stirs the brown gravy on the stovetop diligently. “David came up to see the show the other night, and he mentioned something about wanting to see Louis day after Christmas for a late birthday. I think they’re getting serious.”

“Really?” Anne asks. “Jay’s never mentioned a David. I wonder if Louis’ never told her about this David.”

Harry’s brow creases, but he just keeps stirring the gravy.

Anne leans over and kisses the side of Harry’s head. “Don’t worry your curly head about it, sweetheart. Louis’ not going to leave Millie unless you want him to go.”

“I don’t,” Harry says earnestly. “She loves him, and I know he loves her, too, almost like she were his.”

Anne carefully looks at the carrot she’s grating for salad and not at Harry. “Don’t you think she is a bit his? He’s raising her as much as you are.”

Harry is very quiet. From the living room, they can hear Millie’s squeaky little voice yodeling the ‘affabet’ and Louis chivvying her something gentle and corrective before Millie yowls “No!” and everyone laughing.

“I don’t think about it,” Harry says finally, honestly. “I don’t want anyone to ever feel like they’re stuck on account of me, and that includes on account of Millie since she’s like, mine, and my responsibility, and all. I don’t want him to feel he has to stay if he’s happier with someone else. He didn’t choose to have a kid so young.” His voice gets small. “I don’t want him to resent me like – Niall does.”

“Niall’s forgiven you, darling,” Anne soothes him, rubbing his shoulder. “That was one outburst and I know he felt horrible.” She pauses and trades out the carrot for some green cabbage. “And don’t you think Louis did choose to have a child at this age, maybe – more than you did? Millie is yours because she’s got your blood, of course she’s yours and no one could ever argue that, but… didn’t he choose to help raise her even though he didn’t have to at all? That makes her his by bond.”

Harry freezes for a minute. “I’ve never thought of it like that.”

Anne kisses his cheek on her way to the refrigerator for the vinegar dressing. “Maybe you should before you worry about bringing other people into the equation of Millie’s family.”

“Is this about Caroline, then?” Harry asks, sounding defeated. “Do you not want her to come?”

“I’m very excited to meet her,” Anne says lightly. “And I think Millie will be thrilled. You know how she loves X Factor. But I do think that you need to consider that in Millie’s mind, she may already think she has two parents. And she’s little enough that she certainly won’t be rude to Caroline, but… she may be confused.”

“Millie knows Louis’ not her dad,” Harry says defensively. “ _I’m_ her dad. Me. I’m the one who wanted her and fought for her and kept her. _I’m_ her only dad.”

From the living room, there’s the sound of Louis laughing and Millie shouting, a bit indignantly, “Muppie!”

“You’re right,” Anne says mildly. “I spoke out of turn. You know what you and Louis are doing with her.”

Harry’s in a bit of mood for the rest of the day. He keeps Millie close to him: she sits on his lap, he cuts her food for her, he changes all of her nappies himself. Louis looks on, a little bewildered, when Harry replaces a potato that Louis’ mashed for her with one that he cut himself into small cubes.

“She’s too old for just mashed food,” Harry explains, not looking at him. “Potatoes are soft enough she can chew.”

“Okay,” Louis says. He looks down at his own plate and eats a potato quietly. Unnoticed by either of them, across the table, Jay and Anne share a significant, sad look.

After tea, they all sit in the main room so Louis can open his gifts. Harry keeps Millie settled on his lap, so the twins take turns ferrying presents to him from the pile beneath the big Christmas tree. Jay gives him a massive tin of Yorkshire Tea; the twins give him jumpers from Topman. Louis’ brow furrows when he opens Harry’s gift.

“Airline vouchers?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and he smooths down one of Millie’s flyaway curls that’s tickling the underside of his chin. “I thought you might want to use them, erm, to go to Ibiza with Stan again, or – or David, go away for weekend hols.”

Louis’ eyes shutter closed for a moment and he pastes a smile on his face that absolutely does not crinkle the sides of his eyes. “Thanks, H. That’s really generous.”

Anne and Jay glance at each other again sadly, and Jay reaches around Fizzy’s back to soothingly scratch the nape of Louis’ neck. Shortly after the gifts, Millie is wilting with tiredness and needs a dummy and a nappy change, so the Tomlinsons pack everything up and kiss Anne, Harry, Gemma, and Millie on the cheek before heading out to their cars for the long evening drive to Doncaster.

Harry changes Millie into her pyjamas and together, they put out a stocking for Father Christmas. Millie is too little and sleepy to care much, but Harry kisses her forehead and makes Anne take pictures for him. He settles Millie in the little collapsible crib alongside his childhood bed in the room where Millie lived until she was nearly three months old, on her own without Harry while he was with Louis in the X Factor House, and she murmurs a _Daddy… Bee… Muppie?_ before falling asleep with her blue blanket curled in her hand.

The next morning, Harry wakes up to Millie staring at him from between the bars of her crib. She’s holding a cardboard book in one hand, and she waves it at him. “Affabet!” 

“You’re right, little bean,” Harry agrees. “Happy Christmas, by the way.”

“Food?” 

Harry sits up and takes a deep breath of the delicious, warm, cinnamonny Christmas aroma weaving its way into the room from the kitchen. “Yup,” he agrees. He stands and cracks his back and lifts Millie from the crib. She carries the book with her. “Let’s get some food.”

“Eggstirbakin?” 

“Maybe,” Harry says. “Or maybe there’s Christmas cake.”

“Cake!” Millie squeals, kicking her legs. “Guss! Mmm!”

In the kitchen, Harry wishes his mum and Robin and Gemma a happy Christmas and proffers Millie out so they can each kiss her head. Millie, though, frowns, even after Gemma gives her a little piece of sweet bun. 

Millie cranes her head around to look over her shoulder. Her eyebrows furl and she pouts her lips. “Mup?” She looks up at Harry and pats his chin. “Mup? Daddy? Mine Muppie?”

Harry kisses her forehead. “Let’s sit and eat some food, okay? And later, you get to meet Caroline.”

Millie looks a bit troubled, checking over her shoulder every few minutes as she distractedly eats soft scrambled egg with a cinnamon sweet bun. After they’ve eaten, Harry shows Millie the way to trot into the living room for her gifts beneath the Christmas tree. Harry takes dozens of photos of Millie tearing into her gifts and crowing joyfully at the stuffed dinosaurs and cardboard books and a set of Pingu blankets. Half of the tags read _From Mup!_ and the others are split between the Styleses and ‘Father Christmas :)’ in Harry’s handwriting. 

After all of the gifts are exchanged, Anne heads back into the kitchen to start preparing the Christmas roast with a promise from Harry that he will make the gravy and the Yorkshire puddings. Millie plays quietly on the floor with two dinosaurs while Gemma, Harry, and Robin settle back on the sofa to watch the Beeb.

After a while, Millie pushes herself up and totters off towards the kitchen; clinging to the doorframe, she peers into the room and looks both directions.

“Hello, little miss,” Anne coos. “What do you need?”

“Mup?”

Anne smiles sadly and goes to lift Millie into her arms. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Your Mup’s not here today.”

Millie frowns. “Muppie mine!”

“That’s right,” Anne agrees. “Your Mup is yours. But he’s not here today. Just your daddy and Auntie Gemma and Robin and me. Who am I, Miss Millie?”

“Grannananna,” Millie explains, patting Anne’s face. Anne tickles Millie’s belly and Millie shrieks happily. 

“That’s right! Grandma Anne.” She sets Millie down on the countertop. “Do you want to stir the cauliflower cheese? Yeah?”

“Tee!” Millie enthuses. Anne gives her a small chunk of cheddar cheese and Millie noms at it, then makes a face.

Anne laughs. “Too strong?”

Millie nods. “Yish.”

Anne cuts her a small chunk of a soft caerphilly and Millie _mmm!_ s happily, nomming at it while Anne helps her stir up the shredded cheddar cheese and florets of cauliflower. While Millie stirs, Anne turns on Radio1 and Millie sings along tunelessly and without the words, replacing them with random letters in the alphabet, all out of order.

After the cauliflower cheese is set in the oven to bake, Anne lifts Millie back down and bumps her rump lightly to send her trotting off to find her dad so he can bathe her and dress her for Caroline’s visit. Millie looks all around the living room for a while, even checking under the tree and peeking out of the window near the door, before approaching Harry.

Millie curls up on the floor, hiding behind Harry’s knees. She wraps her arms around his calf and squeezes tight, cheek pressed to the back of his leg. She whimpers pathetically and rubs her face against the back of his knee.

Harry reaches down and combs his fingers gently through her curls. “What’s up, little bean? Why are you sad?”

“Muppie,” Millie whimpers. “Want…”

Harry sighs and slides off the couch so he can look Millie in the eyes. She blinks up at him with wet eyelashes and a pink nose, looking quite miserable. “Muppie!”

Harry sighs and kisses her forehead. “Okay. Let me call him and see if Jay is alright with me taking you over, alright?”

“Grannajay,” Millie chirps, and wipes her nose on Harry’s arm. 

“I can’t help overhearing,” Anne calls, leaning out of the kitchen. “I know Jay is alright with us all stopping by, if you want. You… could call Caroline and reschedule, maybe for Wednesday?”

Harry blinks. “Alright. I guess we could do that.”

“Robin?” Anne asks. “Can you help me wrap the caul-cheese and a few of the salads in foil to bring them with us? Offer some food, since we’re stopping by?”

Harry texts Caroline, then lifts Millie to bring her upstairs and bathe her, change her into a fresh nappy, and put on a new Christmas dress and knit tights. Millie chirrups happily, singing, “Daddy! Bee! Muppie! Bee! Granannaannajay! Kissmiss! Daddy! Bee! Muppie!” and Harry kisses her face all over to make her giggle and shriek. 

“Alright, little bean,” Harry says, after he’s changed into a red jumper that matches Millie’s dress. “Let’s go have Christmas with your Mup and Grandma Jay and Lottie and Fizzy and Daisy and Phoebe.”

“Pammee,” Millie offers. Then she pauses and shakes her head. “No.” She thinks for a minute and tries hard to shape her mouth. “Fammee. Mine?”

Harry sighs. In his pocket, his phone rings with a regretful text from Caroline that maybe a meeting on Christmas would have been too serious anyway, and she’d be happy to see them in January, but Wednesday didn’t work for her as she was going to Curaçao with Jody and Nick; she’d meet Millie later, yeah?

“Yeah,” Harry admits, and kisses Millie’s face again. She tugs on his hair mischievously. “They’re your family, too.”

“Danyell?” Millie asks, as Harry carries her down the stairs and out to the car. “Leeyum? Nayyo? Zang?”

“Sure,” Harry agrees. “They can be your family. But not the same way as me and your Mup.”

Millie smiles like she’s the cat who got the cream, and Anne winks at her in the rearview mirror.

•••

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	15. Chapter 15

Touring is a whole different world than their daily life has been in London. Instead of living together separately, Harry and Louis are back to being in each other’s pockets, pulling clothes from a single set of luggage and sleeping in beds right beside each other with just Millie’s crib in between. They head to Bournemouth a day before the rest of the team so Millie can get settled into the idea of sleeping in a crib besides her own again. 

“Come on, sweetie, stop crying,” Harry begs sleepily, reaching from his bed through the bars of her crib to tickle her tummy lazily. “It’s a nice bed. Go to sleep.”

“No!” Millie yells, writhing. “Yucky!”

“Harry,” Louis grumbles from the bed at her other side, “Can she just come in and cuddle with me until she falls asleep or something? She’s gonna, like, hurt herself.”

Harry rolls over and flops onto his belly, face buried in the pillows. “Fine. Just this once. She’s got to get used to it.”

Louis scoots across his bed and clucks soothingly as he lifts her out of the rickety crib and cuddles her to his chest. “It’s okay, little bean; it’s okay. Come on, let me wipe your nose – there you go, that’s a good little sad girl. Let’s go to sleep; there we go… yes, that’s a good cuddle. D’you feel better?” Harry hears Millie snuffle once, satisfied, and turns his head to peer through the gap of the abandoned crib at Louis and Millie snuggling. Millie is curled up on Louis’ chest, her little face tucked into the curve of his neck, cradled by his jaw; Louis is rubbing slow circles over her back to keep her calm. His eyes are closed, but Millie’s green eyes are open and staring back at Harry.

She lifts her arm and flaps her fingers at Harry. “Daddy.”

Harry blows her a kiss. “Go to sleep, little bean.”

Millie flaps her hand again and Louis catches her wrist gently with his fingers, thumb stroking the top of her hand. 

Millie blinks slowly, and her next words are muffled around her dummy. “Daddy… Bee… Muppie. Seepy.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “We’re all sleepy. So you should go to sleep.”

“Seepy now,” Millie urges, her eyes fluttering shut. “Dayee…”

Her words slur around the dummy as she falls asleep, worn out by her sobbing fit. Louis sighs and traces the shell of Millie’s ear with one fingertip. 

“G’night, H,” Louis mumbles. “She’ll sleep in her own bed tomorrow.”

But she doesn’t. After the Bournemouth show, the band sit and chat in the hotel bar for a long time, Millie crawling around leglessly around their heels, babbling and preening and begging Niall for bits of his fish and chips. She seems perfectly happy and herself until Harry and Louis get her back up to the room and into her jammies – and then, as soon as they settle her into the crib, she starts wailing again.

“No!” Millie yells, fat tears all over her red face. “No, Bee seepy! Daddy, Bee, Muppie!”

“Sweetie, if you’re sleepy, then _go to sleep_ ,” Harry pleads. “It’s a nice crib! Just lie down and rest, bean; I promise it’s a nice bed.”

“No!” Millie kicks her legs, rolling and writhing. “Daddy, Bee, Muppie! No, no, no!”

After waiting in vain for her to burn herself out, Harry finally lifts her out of the crib. She immediately stops wailing, although she’s still huffing and snuffling and whimpering as she tries to catch her breath. Her face and hair are all sweaty from the exertion of the temper tantrum.

Harry’s resolve cracks. “Oh, sweetie,” he murmurs, cuddling her in to his chest. “Why don’t you want to sleep in the nice crib?”

Millie frowns, her lower lip quivering. “No.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah, I got that part. Come on, let’s go give you a nice bath and then we’ll try sleeping again, okay?”

After Millie is clean and dry and her eyes are already half-lidded with sleep, Harry moves to put her in the crib again – and the moment her feet graze the mattress, Millie starts whimpering again in warning.

“Oh, for pete’s sake,” Harry grumbles. He lifts her back out again and looks her in the eyes. “What do you want, bean?”

“Bee,” she explains, her fingers clutching into the neck of his t-shirt. “Daddy… Bee… Muppie.”

“Millie, you can’t just sleep in our beds,” Harry says. “You have to sleep in your own nice bed.”

Millie’s lip quivers again. “No.”

“Oh, let her cuddle,” Louis says from his bed, looking up from his phone. “What does it hurt?”

“We’re always going to be on tour,” Harry says firmly. “And she’s got to be okay with sleeping in beds that aren’t her one at home. She’s got to try.”

Louis sighs. “I guess you’re right.”

But after another round of Millie’s screeching temper tantrum, Louis rolls over and fixes Harry with a hard glare. “Harry. She’s miserable. Maybe this particular bed really is hurting her or something. Maybe there’s a spring in it or something. Just… please, _please_ Harry; does she have to sleep in it tonight? Tomorrow in Birmingham we can try again.”

Harry harrumphs, but lifts Millie out of the crib. She calms slowly, face pressed into his chest, and Millie sleeps curled up in Harry’s arms. 

Tonight, Harry doesn’t fall asleep so quickly, and he can see the light reflecting from Louis’ eyes in the other bed. 

“Y’alright, Lou?” he asks. He pauses, listening to the rustle of Louis’ legs beneath the starched hotel sheets. “D’you want to come over here, too?”

Louis laughs under his breath. “Wouldn’t Caroline mind you inviting strange boys into your bed?”

“You’re not strange,” Harry protests. “Well, you are strange. But she knows your brand of strange.”

Louis laughs, and they both shush themselves quickly, looking down at Millie, but she’s still dozing peacefully, sucking at her dummy. 

“Would David mind you cuddling over here?” Harry hedges, and swallows.

Louis pauses. “No,” he says finally. “I don’t think so. We’re not, you know. It’s not like you and Cazza. You want Caroline to meet your mum; I haven’t even told my mum David’s a person.”

Harry nods, and Millie gurgles a bit, turning her face to nuzzle her other cheek against Harry’s chest. They give her a moment to fall back into sleep before Harry speaks again. “Do you want to come sleep over here with us?”

Millie’s dummy falls out of her mouth and she slurs a _Muppie, Bee… Dayee…_ before Harry helps her find the dummy again and she hums gratefully.

Louis pads around the empty crib and pulls back the sheets on the other side of Harry’s bed. He slides across the mattress and it dips under his weight, creaking quietly. Millie rustles, her eyes opening, and the dummy slips from her mouth again as she smiles and reaches out for Louis, her fingers flapping.

Louis lets her grasp onto his thumb and smiles back at her gently. “Go back to sleep, bean.”

“Bee seepy,” Millie agrees, and Harry offers her the dummy again. Within a minute, she’s sound asleep again, still clutching onto Louis’ thumb and cuddled atop Harry’s chest.

Louis smiles at Harry. “She’s out like a light.”

Harry smiles back. “Yeah. I guess it’s okay, just this once. D’you need your thumb back?”

“Nah, it’s alright,” Louis whispers. He rolls onto his side, facing Harry and Millie so she can keep hold of his hand. “If monkeys can do without, so can I.”

Harry laughs softly through his nose. “It’s just one night,” he whispers. “Starting in Birmingham, she’ll sleep on her own again.”

•••

In Birmingham, though, their van is struck after the show by a distracted driver. No one is hurt, really; Louis and Zayn get checked out for whiplash and Louis moves slowly, wincing, for a few hours – but Millie is deeply shaken and needy after the collision, and Harry thinks, well, _one_ more night, it’s understandable if she needs a cuddle to fall asleep.

One night in Birmingham turns into another in Plymouth, and another in Nottingham. Louis curls up with them both nights, propped up on pillows for his neck, and Millie rests tucked up between Harry and Louis on the mattress. 

Louis wakes up in Brighton with a stiff neck and a tiny finger up his nose.

“Bean,” he groans, his voice thick and crackly from sleep, “What’ve we told you about bogeys?”

“Yucky!” Millie recites, smiling and happy and poking around at Louis’ face. “Hi, Muppie.”

“Hi, babybeans.” Louis yawns. “Did you sleep good?”

“Bee seepy,” Millie says. Then she pauses and shakes her head. “Bee seepy no.” She crawls up to lie on Louis’ chest. Across the little chasm of rumpled blankets, Harry is still asleep, his face slack and young-looking in relaxation. A lock of his hair is fluttering across his mouth every time he exhales, and his nose twitches as it tickles him. The bed is warm and Harry’s comforting smell is all over the blankets, all soap and boy and the faint traces of yesterday’s cologne; his shoulders look broader in bed than Louis’ noticed before. Harry’s socked toes knock against Louis’ ankle under the blankets as Harry rolls over a bit to get away from the tickle of his own hair, and Louis’ stomach clenches.

He’s been trying so hard.

Millie looks up at Louis looking at Harry. “Muppie gaow Daddy?” 

Louis blinks and looks down at Millie, smiling. “I don’t know what that means, bean.” He pats her back. “Does it mean you need your nappy changed? Because that’s a true thing right now.”

Millie blurts her lips out in something like exasperation as Louis lifts her out of bed and sets her on the floor. “Can you find the loo, Millie?”

“No,” Millie insists, and sits down in protest. She has no interest whatsoever in toilet training, no matter how gently they try to ease her into it.

Louis nudges her with his toes. “Get up, silly bean. Don’t you want a dry nappy?” Millie rolls onto her front and starts to walrus-crawl to the bathroom. “That’s a good girl. Let’s go.”

Millie successfully says _thank you_ for the first time at lunch when Lou Teasdale passes her a bowl of shredded chicken, so Harry and Louis are both in high spirits during the concert. They’ve always played with each other onstage, but they’re a little extra exuberant – maybe in part because it’s Brighton – and Harry’s eyes sparkle at Louis while they dance their stupid fan-favorite ‘Catch a Fish  & Reel ‘Em In’ move. Their faces drift a little closer than usual; Harry smells a little more enticing than the night before. Harry licks his fingertips and mimes a spanking as Zayn slides past them, and Louis knows that it’s a joke but he can’t _quite_ school his face into an innocent laugh.

“Y’alright?” Louis murmurs in Harry’s ear just for an excuse to stay closer to him for a second longer. 

Harry leans back in and Louis always forgets just how much Harry’s really grown and how he looms over him like this. “Brilliant. Y’alright?”

Louis smiles and nods and they pass each other to hit their next marks – letting their fingers stretch out and linger a second as they move to their spots for the end of “I Want.”

After they’ve showered at the end of the show and are joking around backstage, laughing at Millie’s new trick of trotting over to everyone she sees, handing them a little trinket or piece of fruit just so they can hand it back to her and she can say “thank you!”, David knocks on the doorframe of the green room.

“Oh!” Louis huffs, still laughing at how Zayn is wiping sweaty banana from his palm surreptitiously on the sofa behind him. “Hi! I didn’t know you were coming tonight. Everyone, this is David; I can’t remember if you spoke to him last he was here.”

Millie trots over to David and holds up the battered banana coin plaintively. “Hi.”

David’s brow furrows for the barest second before he smooths his face out into an indulgent smile, and lets her drop the gooey banana into his hand. “Thank you.”

“No.” Millie shakes her head, and reaches her hand back out. “Mine.”

David glances at Louis, but hands back the banana. Millie grins at him toothily. “Thank you!”

David smiles and kneels down to her eye-level. “You’re welcome. You must be Millie.”

“Bee,” Millie confirms. She lifts up her skirt and shows off her belly. “No tummies.”

“Oh, for the love of – ” Harry swoops down to lift Millie off her feet, fixing her dress while zooming her around over his head to make her laugh. “Millie! You’ve got to stop doing that!” He tosses Millie in the air and she shrieks; when he catches her, he dips her low to the ground like a ballroom dancer and she coos, patting his face. Harry kisses her cheek and stands, shifting Millie onto his hip and keeping her skirt folded down properly beneath his elbow. He sticks out his hand towards David. “I’m Harry. I apologize for the tummies.”

David bites his lip and shakes Harry’s hand. It’s quick and perfunctory, but Louis feels like somehow, it’s even more awkward than when he’d intentionally humiliated Harry and Caroline on the Xtra Factor a few weeks ago. No one else seems to notice, though, and even Millie just looks curiously at David, studying his face while she chews on her fingers to divest them of the remnants of banana.

David looks over to Louis. “Are you free tonight? I guess – maybe surprises don’t work with your schedule, do they?”

“No, it’s alright,” Louis says quickly. “We’ve tomorrow off, so I’ve got the night. Erm, I’ll just tell Paul to rent another room.”

“You don’t all get your own?” David asks curiously. 

“Not normally, no,” Zayn says. “Me and Niall trade off sharing with Liam, and Lou and Hazz share to keep Millie.”

Millie preens at the sound of her name and bends backwards trying to find Zayn. She stretches out her arms. “Zang! Bee!”

Harry hands Millie to Zayn and she kicks her legs triumphantly, nearly walloping Zayn in the eye as he sets her on his shoulders and keeps careful hold of her. She tugs on Zayn’s hair like reins. “Mine Zang,” she explains to David. “Mine Daddy. Mine Muppie. Mine Nayyo. Mine Leeyum! Leeyum, Danyell!”

“She calls me ‘mup,’” Louis explains, both proud and sheepish, as he and Harry share a small smile.

“That’s cute.” David hesitates, one hand on the small of Louis’ back. “Do you… _want_ to get another room?”

Louis hesitates just long enough for Harry to say, “It might be good for her, Lou, if she has to sleep in her own bed for real instead of ours.”

The rest of the band, plus Lou Teasdale and Lux and Millie, load up in the shuttle van back to the hotel, but Louis and David catch a cab to a small, discreet bar on the seafront. Louis is famished and a bit exhausted, the buzz of the show already reducing to a simmer in his bones that makes his neck – still sore from the crash in Birmingham – ache. All the club has to eat are ridiculously expensive hot dogs and chips, so he gets two dogs and a black pepper chips while David brings back beer and shots. 

David is nice, genuinely, and it makes something ugly twist in the base of Louis’ stomach when David sits down next to him. He doesn’t think it’s just the £14-worth of hot dogs in his gut, either.

“So…” David starts, a little gin shine in his blue eyes, “You and Harry share a bed, then?”

“Just lately,” Louis defends weakly. “Millie’s – going through a phase. She needs a cuddle to sleep.”

“From both of you?” David asks. He shakes his head and takes a sip of beer. “She’s a strange kid, isn’t she?”

“She’s brilliant,” Louis snaps, truly defensive this time. 

David smiles and nudges Louis’ shoulder with his own. “Strange isn’t a bad thing! You’re very strange and I rather like you.” He sighs and traces the rim of his shotglass with one finger. “Which is why it sucks I have to say this.”

“David – it’s not – ”

“It is, Louis,” David says gently. “You’re – jesus, Louis, you’re _married_ to another man. You live together, you work together, you’re raising a child together… you share a bed. For fuck’s sake, his child calls you ‘mum.’ I feel like a homewrecker.”

“It’s not ‘mum,’” Louis protests, because it needs to be said. The air needs to be clear between them before they part ways, even though David’s not entirely wrong. “It’s ‘mup.’ It’s – ” Louis forces a light laugh. “It’s only half ‘mum.’ And half ‘shut up.’ Or it could be short for ‘Muppet,’ as from some angles I’ve noticed I have a striking resemblance to Kermit the Frog.”

David laughs too, rolling his eyes. “I told you. _Strange_.” 

“I’m really not,” Louis says softly. “Her mum, I mean. I am strange. But it’s not – it’s not equal like that. Not to Harry, anyway. I don’t think Millie would agree, personally, but… it’s how Harry feels that matters. I’m just helping him out.”

David cups his hand around the back of Louis’ neck and strokes soothingly behind his ear. “I think he does know, Louis. I think he’s just… I’d be scared all the time, if I were Harry. Whether he wants to say it or not, I mean… how old was he when Millie was born? Seventeen?”

“Sixteen.”

“Jesus. I mean, he’s possessive. He’s a teenage boy.”

“I’m a teenage boy,” Louis says sulkily, and David tags on Louis’ earlobe mischievously.

“ _Twenteen_ doesn’t count, Louis. I mean, he _has_ to notice his daughter calling you ‘mine muppie.’ She’s claimed you. And it’s no accident he told me you two share a bed. He’s claimed you, too.” David sighs. “And I can’t be with you if it’s like that. I know you’re not _with_ him, but… you’re with him, and her, and – your whole thing. I don’t feel right.”

Louis just nods and drinks a shot of vodka that burns. “I wish it actually were how you think it is.”

“I know,” says David softly. “I’ve always known that. I just kinda thought,” he sighs, “If I waited… it’d go away. But who’m I kidding? He’s Harry fucking Styles.”

“He’s Harry fucking Caroline Flack,” Louis corrects, laughing dully. “And… if you’re not opposed… I think that means I get one more night to be Louis fucking whoever I want, and I want you. Will you come back with me?”

David smiles lopsided with the corner of his mouth twitched up to make his cheek dimple, one eyebrow raised. “Only because you’ve got the best bum in Britain.” He leans in to whisper in Louis’ ear and his teeth graze over the warm vein in Louis’ neck. “You’re going to wish you did get that insurance. Your arse is gonna be _wrecked_ when I’m done with you.”

•••

After David leaves in the wee hours of the morning, Louis spends the day off in Brighton totally alone. He walks along the seafront, watching far-off boats and buoys. He lunches alone with simple fish and chips and he doesn’t have to explain to anyone why he’s just leaning against a post instead of sitting down, which is a relief. He takes a few pictures on his mobile of the brightly colored stacks of boats waiting for springtime to come.

In the afternoon, he ducks behind the Beach Hut to hide from Zayn, Harry, and Millie where they’re walking along the beach, too, Millie happily riding Zayn’s shoulders and shrieking as she points at white birds.

Louis only goes back after Liam texts him around sunset: _wer r u?? u o k ? i saw davvid leaving this mrng after brakefast but not u ???_

Louis smiles in spite of himself at Liam’s clear concern, as displayed through copious question marks, and responds, _I’m not a nutter who gets breakfast at 5 A M ! :) I’m on way back payner x_

The next few shows are in London, so they all get to sleep in their own beds. But Millie screams like she’s being disemboweled even when Harry tries to settle her in her own crib that she’s had since she was a tiny baby, and she doesn’t stop sobbing until both Louis and Harry are cuddling around her and she goes all pleasant, placid babbles and smiles.

“A-Z-E-F-E-E-E,” she sings tunelessly, poking at Harry’s cheek and sticking her rump in Louis’ face at four in the morning after their first Hammersmith show. “Bee! Ohh’s! P-O-G-Bee!”

Harry groans miserably and turns to face Louis across the pillows. “Something’s not right with her. I think we’ve got to put our foots down. Feet. Foots. _Fuck, I’m tired_.”

“Fuhh,” Millie mimics, collapsing into a heap on the pillow. “Daddy seepy?”

“Yes, bean,” Harry groans, sitting up. He hoists Millie up indelicately by the waist and shambles off to her little room. “Daddy is very sleepy. And you have a nice crib all your own. Look, it’s _yours_ , goofball. You can sleep in it.”

“Nonononono!” Millie begs desperately, her voice rising as Harry stumbles back into his own room. He falls into bed and curls the pillow over his head. 

“Nogonogonogonogo!” Millie shrieks from her room. “Muppie! Daddy! Bee! Gogogo!”

Louis makes a pathetic noise in the back of his throat. “She sounds so sad, H.” He pushes back the blankets.

Harry throws out his arm and catches Louis around the waist. 

“No,” he mumbles sleepily. “Stay here. She can deal. It’s her own bed. Just stay here.”

After a few minutes pass, Millie either exhausts herself or gives up and goes quiet. 

“Stay here,” Harry mumbles again, almost asleep, his hand tightening around Louis’ waist almost unconsciously, his thumb rubbing once over the skin of Louis’ hip. “Sleep.”

So Louis lies down beside Harry and tries to relax. Harry wriggles closer in his state of twilight sleep and rumbles deep in his chest as he wraps an arm over Louis’ ribs, his front tucked up along Louis’ back like puzzle pieces. 

Louis stays awake a long time, unable to ignore the distraction of Harry’s gentle, steady breathing against the back of his neck and the thumping of Harry’s heartbeat between his ribs.

The next night, Caroline comes to the show. Harry is livid when he sees the crowd full of “Flack Off, Caroline!” and “Millie Doesn’t Need Another Nan!” posters, so Louis tells him to go on and go back with Cazza to hers for the night and blow off some steam. They leave immediately after the last song, before Harry’s even showered, so Caroline never ends up making it backstage to meet Millie.

Back at the flat, Louis lets Millie sleep curled up on his chest on the sofa after she whimpers miserably at the sight of her crib. In the morning, they eat eggs and pack up some more clothes for the rest of the tour, and they pick up Harry at Caroline’s place on their way back to Fountain to reboard the tourbus en route to Glasgow.

Touring is a blur as they move from city to city at a rapid clip, spending every night on the bus; to keep Millie from crying all night and keeping everyone else awake, Harry lets her sleep in his bunk or Louis’, but repeatedly tells Louis, “When we’ve got beds next, she’s _got_ to sleep in her own. This is getting unhealthy, I think. I don’t know what’s gone wrong with her.”

“I dunno,” Louis says, rubbing Millie’s back as she hiccups and clings to his neck. “Maybe she’s teething or something and in pain?”

“Maybe it’s her legs,” Harry frets. “Maybe making her walk so much has messed her up. Maybe it’s like, accidentally abusing her.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Louis dismisses, kissing Millie’s forehead. “You worry too much, H.”

Harry is quiet, picking listlessly at an orange. “Didn’t you see the Mail Online the other day?”

“No,” Louis says honestly. “I ignore it.”

“There was an op-ed… people think terrible things about us and Millie and me and Caroline and – I don’t know. They’re twisted. It’s the usual ‘two men can’t raise a normal kid’ bullshit, but… worse, basically. It’s got stuck in my head that maybe she is turning out weird.”

“That’s stupid,” Louis says fiercely. “You just said it yourself that’s all bullshit. And look at Niall – he’s got two mums _and_ a dad _and_ really older brother and he’s normal enough. If Millie wants to cuddle when she sleeps, especially when she’s so young, I don’t see who it hurts.”

“We could squish her,” Harry points out. “I was reading on the internet, people get their kids taken away for it.” His eyes are very round and Louis is struck with a memory of David’s words: _he must be scared all the time_.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs, rubbing the back of Harry’s neck, “Nobody is going to take her away from you.” He bounces Millie lightly and she hiccups again, looking shocked by the sound coming out of her. “You’re happy, aren’t you, bean?”

“Bee!” Millie agrees, then hiccups. “Daddy! Bee! Muppie! Affabet: A-B-Z-B-Z-Z-P-O-G.”

“She’s got two right now,” Harry points out, leaning over to smooth down Millie’s wild curls and kiss her forehead. “That’s better.”

“I didn’t know my letters until I was about five,” Louis says. “Her knowing any is pretty damn impressive in my book.” He bounces Millie again. “You’re a smartie, aren’t you, bean?”

“Yish!” Millie says, nodding. She hiccups massively again and scowls. “No, tummy,” she scolds, poking her own belly. “No go.”

Harry finally cracks a laugh and leans over to blow a raspberry on Millie’s round tummy, making her laugh and shriek and tug at his hair with gleeful abandon, her hiccups soon forgotten.

At the end of the week, as per their tactical scheduling with Syco and Modest! to facilitate touring with a baby, they have a weekend clear in London to sleep in their own beds and run errands. They play a Friday night show at the Hammersmith again, and again, Caroline comes – this time, sneaking in a back entrance and watching from the wings. 

Rushing to leave after the show, Harry stops to kiss Millie’s face twice and wrap his arm around Louis’ neck in a one-armed hug. 

“Remember,” he says sternly. “She has to sleep in her own crib. No matter what.”

But Millie whimpers and clings to Louis. So he sleeps out on the couch again even though his own comfortable, warm bed is only a room away, and lets Millie sleep curled up on his chest.

Harry comes back in the morning while they’re still sleeping, and he sets his jaw and makes breakfast in silence: Millie’s little scrambled egg and soft strips of toast, and one breakfast sandwich. One.

“Oh, you’re back,” Louis says from the doorway, sounding sleepy. Millie stands beside him with her hair all flattened on one side, but her eyes light up when shes Harry.

“Daddy!” she chirrups, and trots over to hug his leg. “Hi!”

“Hi, bean,” Harry murmurs. “D’you want breakfast, sweetie?”

“Eggstirbakin!” Millie cheers. “Mmm! Gogogo!”

Harry kisses her forehead and buckles her into her high chair, serving her food silently. 

Louis looks from Millie locked into her chair to the singular breakfast that Harry’s prepared to Harry’s stony face and asks, “Did I do something wrong?”

“I told you,” Harry says tightly, “She has to sleep in her own bed. It’s a rule.”

“A rule?” Louis asks. “Since when does she even have rules?”

“ _We_ can have rules,” Harry says. “And maybe _she_ should. She can walk and talk and she can understand things. She can say part of the alphabet and she’s working on toilet training, almost. She could understand simple rules _if we make her follow them_. She’s never gonna learn if you keep breaking them, Louis.”

“It’s really alright, though, H,” Louis says, brushing some of Millie’s flattened curls out with his fingers. She smiles at him with eggy lips. 

“No, Lou, it is not alright!” Harry hisses. He shoves Louis’ shoulder and Louis startles, his eyes going wide. He backs up from Millie’s chair quickly as Millie stares up at them with coin-round eyes. “It’s not alright that you get to waltz around every day being the good guy because she’s not really yours, and I have to be the one person, the _one person_ in the world who can’t just treat her like a princess all the time even though it makes her not like me as much as she likes you! You could at least pretend to listen to what I have to say about how she should be raised! If I have to make the bad choices, you could at least not make them look worse by ignoring them!”

Louis crosses his arms. “That’s not what I was doing, Harry. And how many fucking times have you _asked me for help_? I didn’t have to move in here. I didn’t have to help you at all. I’ve given up – I could be going out every night and partying and having fun and being _twenty_ and instead I’m here with you and Millie. Because I _wanted_ to be. I do want to be.” He shakes his head and crosses to the refrigerator, bending in to look through its mostly-expired contents just to have something to do with his hands. You can’t act like I’m only here part-time jumping in and out whenever I feel like it like the other boys. If you want to have this fight, go yell at Zayn! He let her eat _paint_ on Wednesday! I’m –” Louis cuts himself off and shakes his head, eyes closed. “Look, in the last month, I’ve been around more than you have because we’re home you’re always, _always_ off with Caroline and her stupid fucking hipster thirty-year-old friends – ”

“Oh, don’t you start that,” Harry snaps. “Not you, too. I’m allowed to have a social life, Louis! I’m allowed to have friends that aren’t in the band or infants or parents! I’m allowed to have sex; I’m allowed to do things on my own!”

“Yes, you are!” Louis agrees, and grips Harry’s shoulders. “You are, Harry. But if you’re not here, then someone else -- _me_ \-- is making decisions about Millie, and maybe they aren’t what you thought, okay? But you’re not here. I’ve got a life, too, Harry, and so does Millie – ”

“ _She’s not your daughter_.” Harry wrenches himself free of Louis’ grasp. “You’re just the baby-sitter. You don’t get to change the rules.”

Louis blinks like he’s been slapped. 

“Okay,” he whispers. “Fine. If that’s how you feel.”

“Yeah, it is,” Harry says roughly. “She’s my kid. Even when I’m not here. She’s _my_ daughter.”

Louis shrugs. “Okay.” Then he goes to the closet and pulls out his coat. “I’m going out,” he says to no one in particular. “Don’t wait up.”

“I wouldn’t,” Harry snorts. Louis hesitates like he might slam the door, but spares a quick glance towards Millie’s perturbed face preparing to whimper in her high chair, and he slips the door shut quietly. Harry exhales – no, Harry _deflates_ \-- and sinks down on his kitchen chair. 

“Muppie?” Millie whimpers, squeezing a handful of egg through her fingers. “Daddy? Bee?”

“No,” Harry says, resting his forehead on his hand. “No Muppie. Just Daddy and Bee.”

Millie sniffles and fat tears well up in her eyes. “Grannajay-Muppie-Bee-Daddy-Grannananna famee. Daddy! Mine!”

“Millie,” Harry says sharply, then takes a deep breath through his nose. “Sweetie, do you understand the difference between how I’m your family and how Mup is your family?”

“No?” Millie whines, and throws her egg on the floor. “Daddy! Bee! Muppie! Gaow. _Gaow, Daddy_ , Muppie, Bee!” She throws another handful of egg and Harry looks up, studying Millie’s face. Millie stares right back through her tears and quivering lips and Harry finally breaks, and sighs, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “You’re right, little bean. Maybe there isn’t a difference.” He kisses her head and gets some paper towels from under the sink to clean up her thrown eggs. “’Cause you love us the same. That’s what you’re saying , right?”

Millie ignores him, instead vengefully eating some toast with her teeth bared. Harry cleans up silently, and doesn’t text Louis, and instead asks Niall if he could watch Millie for an hour or two in the evening.

He has a decision to make.

When Harry gets home just after eleven, Millie is asleep in her crib – for once – wrapped all around her stuffed brachiosaurus like it’s a baby body pillow, and maybe that’s all she needed all along. Niall is seated on the couch watching telly with a beer open on his knee and a second for Harry set out on the table, but he looks up and switches it off with surprise when he sees Harry’s red nose and eyes.

“Hazz? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry croaks. “Just… broke it off with Cazza, and it – it hit me on the way home. She’s the first person I dated since Clare and, basically, I think I have breakup PTSD or something. I lost it a bit in the taxi, but I’m alright.”

“What happened?” Niall asks, patting the couch next to him to invite Harry for a good snuggle. “I thought you really liked her.”

“I do,” Harry says. “Or I did. I don’t know. I just…”

“Was it Louis?” Niall asks carefully. “Liam was doing his nut earlier worried because he saw Louis take off early this morning with his coat and a duffel.”

“I don’t know,” Harry repeats. “No. Maybe. Last night I stayed the night with her – Cazza, I mean, basically, of course, I – and I just… I think I sleep better when it’s Louis in my bed. And… that scared me, and I came home, and I yelled at him, and I said… the worst possible thing I could think of. So he left. And I don’t know even that it was really that? I think it just over last night when I couldn’t sleep, I got to thinking and… it was just,” Harry says thoughtfully, pulling on the beer, “I like that Cazza is older. She has – she has exactly what Clare didn’t, you know, that made me and Clare not work. Cazza has ambition and she’s successful and she knows what she wants and it’s the same, the same things I want. But we never have anything else to talk about other than work, and all of a sudden it was like, I realized that’s because it’s a bit like if one of you wanted to date Millie when she’s our age? And then, basically, all I wanted to do was peel my tongue off and throw up for a while.”

“Oh, yeah, that’d do it,” Niall hums sympathetically. He tucks an arm tight around Harry’s neck and drags him down for a headcuddle. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I for one will never try to date Millie. I could never be with a girl what pooed on me.”

Harry laughs sleepily into Niall’s shoulder and nestles down to bury his face into Niall’s chest, just because he’s warm and Nialler and there.

“You smell.”

“I know,” Niall said flatly. “It’s ‘cause your daughter pooed on me.”

“Oh,” Harry yawns. “Is that why you’re in my shirt?”

“Pretty much,” Niall says easily, wrapping his arm all the way around Harry’s head as he brings the beer bottle back to his lips. “I mean, I know you’ve got a million Twitter followers and all, but I don’t really want to be you.”

•••

Louis slides back into the apartment Tuesday night after the repeat of _That Sunday Night Show_ has already come on. He rests his keys in the bowl by the door and hangs his coat before he says, tentative and soft, “Hey.”

“Hi,” Harry says pleasantly. “Liam said you went home?”

“Yeah, just – thought it’d be nice for a weekend. See the girls,” Louis says, shrugging. He pauses. “That’s only half-true. I thought – well, I hope you and Millie had a nice time.”

“We did,” Harry says. “She asked after you a lot, though.”

“Look, Harry, if you ever really think that I’m overstepping something, just… tell me?” Louis asks. He rolls over the top of the sofa instead of walking three steps around it like a normal human being, and Harry shakes his head. Louis lands with his head on Harry’s leg. “Really?” he asks earnestly. “With Millie, you are in charge, and I really am sorry if I ever made you doubt that, but Harry – you’re a fucking idiot if you think that I don’t love her _like_ she’s mine, and that I don’t want the best for her, too. I don’t just – I know what everybody thinks of me. I mean _everybody_. The entire world seems to think I couldn’t find my own arse with two hands and a flashlight – ”

“Well, the whole world also thinks that’s because you’re busy finding mine and Zayn’s and Liam’s arses with two hands and a – flashlight,” Harry interrupts, smirking.

“Har _ry_.”

“Alright, fine, go.”

“I know that everyone thinks I’m an irresponsible idiot, okay? And that’s fine. Every band needs one. But I’m not going to be irresponsible with _your baby_ ; I’m really not _that_ stupid. I’m not gonna do something that’s like – bad for her. But I don’t want to do anything that would hurt you, either.” He swings his legs around and sits up. “H, if you really want me to back off… I will.”

Harry looked down and knotted his fingers together. “I don’t really. I think I just – like all the Caroline shit was getting to me, and like… I felt guilty going out a lot because – basically, like, I feel bad when I have fun without Millie there?”

“You’re supposed to have fun without her!” Louis says earnestly. He shakes Harry’s knee. “As long as you have fun _with_ her, too. And Caroline’s great, really. You know? Fuck everyone else, if you’re happy.”

“Yeah… basically Caroline and I broke up?” Harry says, and his face scrunches up, and Louis thinks it might be the best Harry has looked in months.

He asks, _oh, what happened, H?_ anyway, because it’s what he should do, and he is Harry’s friend and does want him to be happy. 

“I don’t know,” Harry sighs. “I told Niall that I realized it’s a bit like if one of the boys wanted to date Millie when she’s our age? But like – it wasn’t that at all, really; I guess it was just like… I don’t see Caroline still around when Millie is our age? And I think that was the problem all along. That’s why Caroline never met her, and like – my freak-out and all. Caroline’s the first person I like, really dated, since… before Millie was born – ”

“Always classy.”

“Fuck off. I guess I just realized like, I have to date for two. Or something. That sounds gay – shit, sorry – ”

“No, that did sound super, super gay. That sounded like Gok Wan and Elton John making sweet anal love in an art museum gay.”

Harry cocks his head, half a laugh caught in his throat. “I did miss you this whole weekend, you stupid fuck. I was worried about you. I thought maybe you’d absconded to Ibiza again and got sold to a gay dashiki or something.”

“A dashiki is an African dress. You mean a sultan. And I’m pretty sure both are racist,” Louis corrects Harry, smushing a hand into Harry’s face and mashing his head around against the back of the sofa. “And no, you didn’t, because I know Liam told you where I was going like ten minutes after I got on the road, because he wouldn’t stop texting me and I had to let him know I wasn’t dead.”

“Whatever,” Harry scoffs. He shakes his hair about like a shaggy dog and sweeps his fringe out of his eyes. “But Lou – seriously. I don’t see Caroline around when Millie’s our age. But I do see you. You’re the only one I can see… being there for her – for us, for me, too – that long from now. Not even the other boys, just. You. And you were right. She’s just as much yours. And I know that you’re not gonna try to make bad decisions about her.”

Louis rests his head on Harry’s shoulder and lets the younger boy pull him into a gangly sideways hug. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, boo,” Harry says, giving Louis a sly smile. Louis pokes him in the kidney; Harry huffs and wrenches around to sock Louis one in the gut, but Louis skitters away and after a scuffle, they end up rested on the couch in a not-quite-spoon. Harry sighs and rests his head in the curve of Louis’ arm, skillfully avoiding a noseful of armpit. 

They watch Adrian Chiles in silence for a few minutes before Harry says, “Did Zayn really let her eat _paint_?”

“Yup,” Louis mutters. He winds his fingers into Harry’s curls and tugs on them lightly. “It was red, too.”

“Isn’t that the most dangerous paint?”

“Yeah, there’s like, lead or something in it, I think,” Louis says. “That may not be true. I might have made that up. In fact, I don’t even know what color paint he let her eat, I just know he told me not to tell you and then Millie’s poop was a weird color.”

“Well, was it red?”

“No. It was a color that has no human name, Harold. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Harry says. He yawns and closes his eyes. “Do you think it was stupid for me to break up with Cazza?”

“No,” Louis says firmly. “If she wasn’t going to be around for Millie… then you’re doing the right thing. ‘Cause let me tell you, it – it sucked when Mark left my mum. It really sucked, even though he wasn’t my dad, and I don’t want to see Millie go through the same thing.”

“How were your sisters?” Harry asks quietly.

“They’re good,” Louis says. “You know, Lottie’s still angry, and she’s being sort of a shit. Driving Mum up the wall. Millie’s gonna be a real treat at thirteen, let me tell you now. Good fucking luck.”

“Well, it’s good I got the ‘fun dad’ to help out then,” Harry mumbles. 

Louis smiles and cards his hand into Harry’s curls hair again, just combing through it gently this time and rubbing small circles into Harry’s scalp. Harry sighs in something like a purr, and Louis’ heart clenches a bit. He hopes Harry can’t hear it. “Yup,” he says. “That’s me. The fun dad. I’ll fake-drive her to King’s Cross the first time she wants to run away.”

“Did Lottie do that?”

“Yup,” Louis yawns. “Drove her to Doncaster Airport and all. But then she wanted to use my cards to buy a ticket to Yemen, and I was like, you’re not Chandler, let’s go get a kebab and some ice cream and you tell old Louis what’s wrong, and then she tried to _steal_ my cards to buy a ticket, and so I sort of tackled her and we got thrown out the airport.”

“That isn’t true.”

“It’s partially true,” Louis says loftily, his eyes closing. “And you’ll never know which parts.”

Harry doesn’t say anything. He’s already fallen asleep.

Louis carefully extricates himself from beneath Harry and arranges Harry’s long limbs a bit better on the sofa so that he’ll only wake up cramped, not half-immobilized. He tucks a blanket over Harry’s prone form and flicks the lights off on his way out of the room. He tiptoes past Millie’s door, pauses, and quietly nudges it open so he can give her a kiss good-night.

Her curls are matted down against the side of her head when she sits up, woken by the soft creak of her door and the familiar smell of Louis when he leans over to kiss her cheek. She rubs her eyes blearily and blinks at him.

Then a huge grin breaks over her face and she immediately raises her arms. “Mup!”

“Shhh, pretty girl,” Louis hushes, grinning back at her as he lifts her out of the crib. Millie kicks her legs happily and tangles her toes into Louis’ t-shirt as she burrows her face into his neck. “Oh, I missed you. Cuddly little bean.” He kisses the top of her head and lets his lips linger as he sniffs in, all baby shampoo and Harry and Millie and home. 

“Mine Mup,” Millie whispers into his skin, clinging on tight. “No go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Louis assures her softly, rubbing her back. “You’re well stuck with me.”

He fishes her dummy out of the crib and Millie takes it happily before pushing her face into Louis’ shoulder again with her fingers clutched onto his collar. He leans the soft side of his chin over her tickly curls and rubs her back and hums quietly. Her little fingers come up to ghost over his adam’s apple to feel the buzz of his voice and soon, she falls asleep, too. Louis settles her into the crib, tucks her blanket over her just like he’d done for her dad on the sofa, and makes his silent way back to his own bedroom. His room is a disaster and there’s no one to tuck him in or kiss him good-night, but Louis’ just glad to be home.

After that, life in their flat makes a slow, steady slide back to where it had been before David, before Caroline, before Magaluf and Millie’s legs – just before. In hotels, Millie is happy enough to sleep in her crib as long as she has her brachiosaurus, but on the bus, she sleeps on Harry’s chest or Louis’ or, once, Zayn’s out on the lounge couch because Harry and Louis go out for drinks, just the two of them, after the show.

It’s fragile again, but it’s a start. Harry can’t stop staring at Louis in a whole new light post-Caroline, and Louis spends most of his time every day pretending that he isn’t noticing. After the tour ends, they have a few gigs lined up in Europe and one photoshoot to test the American market, but with a baby on board, Modest! doesn’t think they have much chance of attracting the 12-24 target demo in the USA. Maybe in another year, they say. After they’re older and can try for a slightly more mature crowd. Maybe once they’re old enough that Harry’s story can be played to tug on heartstrings and not as a cautionary tale.

They shoot their photos in New York City just before Harry’s 18TH birthday, and then Louis surprises Harry by using the travel vouchers from Christmas to take Harry and Millie to Los Angeles for a birthday holiday before the boys are all due in Sweden for a “House Party” at NRJ. They take Millie to Disneyland and tweet about twenty pictures of her in her Minnie Mouse ears; _#milliemouse_ trends Worldwide (shocking Modest!, Harry notes with some smugness). By the third day, they’re stopped so often to sign autographs that Louis has to make an emergency call to Paul to request a security detail just to get them around the parks.

They share a hotel room with two beds, but mostly curl up in one, Millie in her crib alongside them with her brachiosaurus. It’s cozy, even with the burly guy following them around everywhere else all day and Millie’s abject terror at the sight of any costume character.

Harry’s birthday is warm, breezy, and brightly sunny. They buy Millie a pair of tiny sunglasses in a giftshop, and she takes them off and puts them on again over and over, trying to figure out how sometimes, it’s suddenly nighttime.

“No, seepy,” she declares finally, handing the glasses ceremoniously to Louis and blinking up into the sun. “Bee gogogo!”

And they do, after that. From LA to London, London to Manchester for a quick visit with the Styleses and the Tomlinsons so Millie can show off her half-an-alphabet and celebrate Harry’s birthday with family; from Manchester, they head to Sweden for a whirlwind twelve hours and then, on Valentine’s Day, to Paris.

“I can watch Millie today,” Zayn offers in the morning, carefully not looking at HarryAndLouis lest he jinx what they’ve all started to hold their breath waiting for. Finally. “She and I can go to see the paintings on the Seine or something after interviews. Would you like that, little acchi?” He tickles under her chin and Millie giggles, her nose wrinkling. “You like art, right?”

Millie’s mouth scrunches up. “Pait yucky!”

“That’s true,” Zayn agrees, “When you ate paint, it was yucky. So you don’t eat it anymore, right? Just food?”

“Food!” Millie cheers, grinning at Zayn. “Mmm!”

“She’s so easy to please,” Zayn jokes, giving Harry and Louis a wink. “Go on. You have that duo interview anyway, just – take some time to see Paris after. You’ve been here before, so me and Mills and Liam can do the tourist stuff you’ve already seen.”

Harry and Louis glance at each other in turns, shyly, and if Zayn still wrote bad poetry, he’d be able to write a pretty horrible poem about them. 

“Okay,” Harry says finally. “Thanks.”

In the end, after their interview, they can’t get a table anywhere in the city – even using Simon Cowell’s name – because it’s _Paris on Valentine’s Day_ , so instead they get ham and cheese crêpes on the Boulevard du Montparnasse and eat them while they walk along winding streets crowded with couples, pointedly reminding themselves that they aren’t a couple; they’re just mates who are out on Valentine’s Day in Paris. 

They let the backs of their hands brush. 

It’s calm. It’s quiet.

The unexpected riot when One Direction try to make their way onto the Eurostar at the end of the evening is anything but calm and quiet. Even after the situation in Disneyland, they had no idea what to expect or to need their own security team any more than they ever do, but the crush of the crowd just keeps feeding on itself. The band and their team are trying to stay huddled around keeping Millie and Niall to the middle of their group for safety, but somehow Liam gets pulled down and then all hell breaks loose as what little security they do have go after Liam, leaving the other four boys – and tiny Millie – exposed.

That’s when someone gets a good grasp on the back of Harry’s black pea coat and he stumbles, a dozen hands yanking at the arms he’s got wrapped tight around Millie. He can barely hear Millie’s wailing, hacking sobs into his neck over the screaming in his face, but they’re getting dragged back into the crowd and he’s squeezing her too tight but he _has_ to or she’ll get pulled right out of his arms and they’re getting crushed back into a wall of people and Harry lifts his head and tries to yell for security to come back and get him, get _Millie_ at least and get her through to the train but what comes out of his mouth, frantic and voice cracking, is – 

“Lou!”

Louis’ got an arm around Liam, helping him hobble along without his shoes -- _how did someone get his shoes off him?_ \-- but he hears Harry like a beacon and Louis looks back immediately, using Liam’s shoulder as leverage to try to see over the crowd and _Harry was supposed to be right behind him_ but instead there’s Zayn, practically carrying Niall through the crowd while the Irishman looks white enough to faint and blue eyes rolling a bit in their sockets. 

“Where’s Harry?” Louis yells, the forced smile falling from his face. “Fuck, where’s Harry?”

The French security at his side shakes his head. Louis looks back into the mass and finds the thickest knot of screaming, weeping girls; it parts like a wave and he gets just a glimpse of Harry curled around Millie, trying to tuck her into his coat with her head beneath his chin in the curve of his neck as he struggles to keep her away from the flailing arms and CDs and papers and cameras. Louis sees, but doesn’t hear, him cry _Louis! Help!_ again.

“I’ve got to get them!” Louis yells, abandoning Liam with a push towards the bodyguard. Louis tries to break backwards to go back and grab him but another security guard pushes him back towards Liam again. “Please let me go to them!”

“Subsistance avançant,” insists security, pushing on Louis’ shoulders. 

“Millie is a baby!” Louis shouts, furious. “Get her _first_ and get them on the train! Now!”

“Subsistance avançant,” the guard repeats, but Louis’ face screws up furiously.

“ _No_ ,” he says, and with a jerk, he wheels Liam around to face Harry, too. “Zayn, you get Niall on the train. Liam, we’re getting Harry and Millie.”

They manage about two steps before security pick them up and more or less throw them the rest of the way towards the Eurostar, but Louis stands in the doorway fuming until Harry and Millie are brought through the crowd.

Millie just keeps sobbing and reaches out for Louis desperately, and maybe a few weeks ago, Harry would have been upset that she wanted comfort from someone else.

But Louis isn’t just someone else, he thinks as he collapses shakily in his own seat, checking perfunctorily on Niall before closing his eyes a minute. Louis is Louis. Louis is Mup.

Millie quiets very slowly, and even her brachiosaurus is of little comfort. 

“We’re never doing that with her again,” Louis says firmly to Harry, trying to school his voice into a low, soothing tone to keep from spooking the still-sniffling baby. There’s a long scratch on one of her legs where the corner of a CD case caught in her tights, and Harry keeps kissing her wrinkled leg apologetically, accidentally tickling her. “We’ve got to figure out something better if there’s crowds like this from now on. We should’ve known.”

“It’s not our job to know that,” Liam points out from his seat across the way. “I mean – what I mean is, you guys are in charge of Millie, but – we’re not in charge of crowd control. That’s to be done for us. This wasn’t your faults at all.” He gives them a half-smile. “I know how much you both tend to blame yourselves, and I don’t want to clean up after it this time. It’s not your fault or ours. And I plan to write a sternum worded e-mail tonight.”

“And I plan to spellcheck it for him this time, don’t worry,” Zayn pipes up from where he’s lying across three seats, arms crossed. He gives a massive yawn, and Liam catches it from him, yawning, too. Niall is already sound asleep in his own seat.

The train ride isn’t long, but it’s long enough that the adrenaline crash leaves Harry the only one awake. He takes photos of everyone sleeping, including wet-nosed Millie on Louis’ lap, and tweets them all. The sympathy for Millie’s post-crying face gives him a reason to ask, very politely, for people not to run up to crowd them when Millie is there, and even though there’s a chance Jones will yell at him for it in the morning, Harry thinks it was worth it.

When they get back to their flat, it’s implicit that Millie will get to spend the night curled up between them in Harry’s bed after that kind of shock. She’s still whimpery and upset, repeatedly losing her dummy when she opens her mouth to whine and reach out for Harry or Louis, so Harry settles her in his lap and reads her _Each Peach Pear Plum_ twice until she falls asleep. While Harry reads to her, Louis quietly calls Anne and asks whether Millie couldn’t spend a day or two in the countryside, away from all of the crowds and time changes and craziness. The BRIT Awards are only hours away, and that kind of attention would be stressful enough without the riot.

So that morning, when they’re already more like frayed nerves than human boys and even though they’re almost as exhausted as Millie, Harry and Louis pack up her favorite soft pyjamas and blue blanket and brachiosaurus and drive her up to Holmes Chapel. She cheers up at the sight of Anne and Gemma waiting for her, and actually grins when she sees Dusty slinking along behind the sofa.

The scratch on her leg peeks out from beneath her dress, angry and red, as she scampers off to walrus-crawl behind Dusty, off on some small adventure. Millie meows to Dusty, but Dusty just looks politely bemused.

“Oh, no,” Anne says warningly when she sees the look on Harry’s face. “This was _not_ your doing. You aren’t meant to be in charge of crowd control. That was utterly irresponsible for them to send you into that so unprepared.”

“Liam’s sent a sternly-worded e-mail,” Louis assures her.

“And Zayn proofread this one,” Harry promises.

Anne laughs. She catches Harry’s chin in her hand and kisses the top of his head just as he always kisses Millie.

“Don’t you have a massive award to go win?” she asks. Harry and Louis exchange bright looks, and Anne pats both of their respective cheeks. “Go! We’ll all be cheering for you from here. Your mum is going to come out here to watch and get some Millie time, Louis. Everyone knows you’ll be brilliant.” 

“Thanks, Mum,” Harry says, and gives her a hug. He looks around the living room, but Millie and Dusty are nowhere in sight. “Milliebean! Come give us a hug!”

There’s a clatter as Millie appears from beneath the rocking chair, pushing herself to her feet and running pell-mell to catch Harry around the leg. She rubs her face on his knee and Harry pets her soft hair, then Millie trots over and gives Louis the same treatment.

Before they can even assure her they’ll be back for her the next afternoon, she’s zipped off again to stalk the cat.

“I see how it is,” Louis comments cynically to Harry as they give Anne last hugs and leave. “For weeks, she can’t be in a room without the both of us there to keep her from crying, but give her five minutes with a cat and we’re yesterday’s jam.”

“That’s not a thing,” Harry says, his cheeks dimpling as he nudges Louis with his elbow, quoting _The IT Crowd_ right back. “’Cause jam lasts for ages.”

Louis is quiet for a while, until they’ve pulled back out onto the long road back to London, and then he says shyly, “I think we’d last for ages, too.”

Harry swallows and looks determinedly out the window. “Can… I think about that?” he asks. “And we can talk about it later?”

“Well, yeah, today’s a bit stressful as it is,” Louis says. “I dunno why I’ve just done that to myself to be honest. Now I’m going to have to get even more drunk at the after party just to cope with being alive.”

Harry barks a laugh and the buzzing tension in the car breaks. 

A little while later, after they’ve picked up teas for the road from a shop along the way, Louis says, “Can you maybe give me like, a rough timeline for when ‘later’ will be? Only I really think I actually might be a bit sick.”

“A week,” Harry offers. “Later can be in a week. We’ll have had most of this week off then, other than tonight and I’ve got to call in to Grimmy’s show day after tomorrow, but… a week’s more time’n I’ve had to think over anything in like, two years. Is that fair?”

“Yeah,” Louis says faintly, and he clears his throat. “Yeah, a week.”

•••

In the end, Harry only needs twelve hours to decide.

They win a BRIT Award. _They win a BRIT Award_ , and even in the most drunken state of his _life_ , Harry is clearheaded enough to think: everything good I’ve got in the world, I share with Louis.

Millie.

One Direction.

His home in London.

Their family who love them.

There’s nothing to think about, really. He spends the night of the afterparty asleep on Liam’s bathroom floor just so he doesn’t say anything stupid to Louis while they’re both so wasted and ruin things before they can even begin, and he ends up sleeping clear through until five in the evening when Liam kicks him in the rear and tells him to get out because Danielle’s needed a wee all day and Harry needs to move out from in front of their toilet already.

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Harry grumbles, his mouth feeling like cotton. “I’ve missed driving up to get Bean and everything. Shit, shit, shit. Why didn’t you wake me?”

“I tried,” Liam says mildly. “If you’ll notice, your shirt is quite damp from all the water I’ve dropped on you over the day. You just swore at me and I think you tried to bite me once.”

Harry sits up and rubs his hand over his face. “Sorry.” He takes a deep, steadying breath in through his nose and out through his sour mouth. Then he feels his face heat and he looks up at Liam bashfully. “D’you think it’s a bad idea if maybe – if Louis and I – together?”

Liam smiles. “I think it’s a brilliant idea. But you might want to brush your teeth first.” He pauses. “And get out of my loo so Danielle can wee, or she might kill you before you get home.”

Harry gathers up his shoes and trudges out of Liam’s flat. Instead of the elevator, he chooses to walk the flights of stairs to their apartment just to give himself five more minutes to think, five more minutes to weigh pros and cons. He’s got another six days on his deadline, after all.

But Harry can hear Millie’s delighted, shrieking giggles before he even unlocks the door; when when he does and is greeted to the sight of Louis and Millie dancing wildly around the living room – to “Swagger Jagger” of all things – all stompy, shuffling feet and spins and pumping, flailing, silly arms… it hits Harry with a bright punch that makes him lose his breath, in love with his life and his family and so, so in love with Louis. There are no more cons to consider. 

He crosses the room in three strides and kisses Louis right in the middle of his grin, half-landing on teeth and awkward, but his fingertips curl into the downy hair just beneath Louis’ ears and he can feel the soaring surge in the other man’s pulse all the same.

Then Millie yells “Daddy!” and attaches herself to Harry’s leg with an iron grasp, and Harry pulls back from Louis’ face.

“Okay,” says Louis, the tips of his ears red.

Harry grins and lays one hand over Louis’ cheek and the other settles atop Millie’s head. “Yes.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	16. Chapter 16

They make spaghetti for dinner and let Millie stir the pasta into the sauce with a big wooden spoon and a big, green bowl Jay had left behind after bringing food for Millie’s birthday, months before. Millie is funny in the kitchen; all overexcited and singing little songs and clinging to their legs to make it hard to walk away from her. The only way Harry can get her to move out of the way of the oven door enough that he can open it to warm the bread is to point her in the direction of her little toy kitchen in the corner and beg her to _scoot, little bean! Cook up some cake and guts!_

“Guss!” Millie agrees, and trots over to her plastic kitchen. She bashes two little bowls together. “Mmm!” She sets a toy dinosaur in one of the bowls and, mimicking Harry pushing the sheet of split French bread into the oven, puts the poor velociraptor in the toy oven.

“She’s a menace,” Louis comments, reaching over Harry’s head to take the Italian Spice Mix from its shelf. “She’s poaching an extinct animal. Pun intended.”

Harry grins at him and it dimples his cheeks and makes his eyes sparkle; Louis gets drawn in and has to smile back, pursing his lips to try to contain it and failing. Harry sets his spatula down on the countertop and wraps his arms around Louis’ shoulders, hugging him close. Louis reaches up slowly and settles his own hands on Harry’s waist, still touching but tentative.

Then there’s a pattering of little bare feet and a squirming little body trying to get between their feet to hug on both of their knees at once. 

“Mine,” Millie reminds them tetchily from where she sits on Louis’ foot and hugs Harry’s calf. “Daddy! Bee! Muppie!”

Harry lifts his head and his eyes are so green when he looks from Louis to Millie and back again. “Yeah,” he agrees. “That’s right, bean.” He lets his hands slide down Louis’ arms and tries to step back, but Millie keeps anchoring them together. “Bean, I need to use my leg.”

“No,” Millie argues just for the sake of it, even as she crawls away from them and scoots back to her play kitchen. “Daddy no gogo.”

Harry rolls his eyes and stirs the bubbling spaghetti sauce just as it’s begun to stick and smoke around the edges of the pan. “Lou, the food’s ready if you want to get Mills to the table and into her seat; I can get the bread and all.”

Louis’ fingers trail over the small of Harry’s back as he crosses their huge kitchen to ruffle’s Millie’s hair. “Come on, chef Millie. Are you ready for some spaghetti?”

“Ketti!” Millie agrees, “Yish!”

Louis picks her up and bounces her joyfully on their way to the table. Just as he’s about to buckle her into the high chair, Millie’s eyes go round and she flaps her hands frantically.

“No!” she urges, “Down-down!”

Louis’ brow furrows, but he sets Millie back down on her feet and she trots over to the play kitchen at top speed. She takes the dinosaur-in-a-bowl out of her pretend oven and brings it with her over to the table.

“Guss,” she announces. “Mmm.”

After they eat, Louis cleans the kitchen – at least as much as Louis ever does or ever would – while Harry gives a thoroughly tomato-encrusted Millie a bath. Louis can hear her splashing and giggling with her dinosaurs and ducks while Harry sings, _isn’t she lovely, just sixteen months old?_ The stopper gurgles and so does Millie as Harry pulls her out of the warm water and wraps her in a Pingu flannel. “It’s bedtime, Miss Millie. You’re gonna sleep in your own crib tonight.”

Louis bites at the side of his thumbnail, staring absently at the telly, and gets up to grab beers from the refrigerator just so he doesn’t have to sit still.

Louis leaves the beer bottles on the end table in front of the couch and goes in to kiss Millie good-night. She stands in her crib, preening in her red onesie and grinning around her dummy, until Louis murmurs, “Lie down, silly, you can’t sleep standing up like a cow.”

“Moo,” Millie says knowingly, and sits down hard on her rump.

“That’s right!” Louis agrees. “Can you lie down like a possum?”

Millie lies down and sticks her arms and legs up in the air. The dummy pops out of her mouth as her tongue lolls out. “Woof.”

“I don’t think possums say ‘woof,’” Louis says. He tickles the bottom of Millie’s foot, then leans down to kiss her forehead when she giggles. “But good enough. Good night, little bean. I love you.”

“Bee,” Millie agrees. “Muppie, Bee. Seepy.”

Louis smiles at Harry when he leaves the room. He sits back on the sofa, flicking idly through channels and draining his first beer, and listens to the soft rustling and murmuring of Harry tucking Millie in and wishing her good night. 

The light in the flat dims when her room goes dark and the door shuts softly.

“So,” Louis says, carefully conversational, after Harry drops onto the sofa beside him. He hands Harry a beer and Harry nods gratefully. “Are we gay boyfriends, then?”

“I don’t know that I’m gay,” Harry says thoughtfully. “But I guess basically, yeah. We’re boyfriends.”

“Harry,” Louis says seriously, turning a bit so his knee is nestled into the back of the couch and he’s facing Harry full-on, “You don’t – like, owe me. I’m more than happy just living here and helping you out with Millie however you need, I don’t expect you to like… you _aren’t_ gay; I know that. You don’t have to… you don’t owe me. When I asked, it was just a shot in the dark.”

“I know.” Harry shrugs and puts the beer down on the coffee table so he can cup a palm over Louis’ wrist, his fingers loose and open in case the other man wants to escape. “I wouldn’t have kissed you if I thought you were like that. I mean, everyone we meet is like that, aren’t they? We always owe something to someone everywhere we go. But you’ve never asked for anything, and basically all I did was walk into your life and make it harder, but you never seem like you blamed me. And you… walked into my life and made it better. So I kissed you.”

“You didn’t make it harder, H,” Louis says, and smiles at Harry. “There’s nothing to blame you for.” His face is uncharacteristically serious for Louis Tomlinson when he looks down at where Harry’s still holding his wrist, and his face colors just a hint – barely enough to be called a blush – when he licks his lower lip and says, “You made my life better, too.”

Harry smiles lopsided at Louis, one cheek dimpling up but both eyes twinkling. “So if neither of us indebted to the other, and we’re well-established half-gay boyfriends, can I just kiss you again? Or do we need to talk about it for a few hours and play some rounds of MASH just to be sure?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says loftily, tucking his thigh up next to Harry’s. “Do you have one of those – whatever they’re called, the cootie-catchers? I think We ♥ Pop published one with all our faces in it. I should check to make sure I end up with you and not Zayn before this gets too far.”

“Really?” Harry asks dryly – even for his normal voice – as he leans in towards Louis.

“Oh, yes,” Louis says earnestly. “I might end up a singer living in a flat with you and our one kid, but I might end up a beachcomber living in a mansion with Zayn and our four dogs, and I really would like to know ahead of time which – ”

Harry shuts him up by kissing him.

This time, it’s _good_. Harry’s lips are as soft as Louis’ ever thought they might be, and he knows how to use them: he teases with tiny sucking kisses only until Louis tangles his fingers into Harry’s hair and nips at the other boy’s bottom lip impatiently with a breath that sounds suspiciously like _tease_. Harry’s lips open on a laugh and Louis slings a leg over Harry’s thighs to sit over his lap. He doesn’t slide up yet.

For Louis, this has been such a long time coming that he doesn’t want it to end too quickly – or to spook Harry into ending it all. 

Harry, for his part, doesn’t seem to have any intention of stopping the kiss any time soon, and his legs spread just a bit out of instinct to bring Louis closer. Louis’ short nails scratch at Harry’s scalp and he purrs into the kiss, hand sliding up over Louis’ belly and chest and –

No boobs. That’s new, but Harry doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t even notice their absence as much as he would have thought, although he does have an errant moment of mournfulness. He does love boobs.

But Louis groans and shuffles closer and oh, he’s hard and pressing up against where Harry is hard and that’s new, too, but Harry _likes_ it and rumble-groans right back, rocking up into Louis’ weight. He draws his thumb experimentally over the nub of Louis’ hard nipple and Louis bites Harry’s bottom lip, tugging at it with it teeth. Harry grins against Louis’ wet mouth and does it again.

Louis pulls back and digs his fingertips into the flesh above Harry’s waist.

“If you aren’t gay,” Louis starts, still straddling Harry’s lap, “Then what are we – what do you – how – is there gonna be –?”

Harry smirks and slides his hands beneath Louis’ thighs to pull him up close. They press together deliciously through their soft sweatpants. “How about… even though I’m probably not gay, I’m gay for you?”

“That’s not a thing,” Louis argues breathlessly even as he wraps his arms around Harry’s shoulders and leans down to kiss him again. 

Harry sniffs a laugh into the kiss, biting down gently on Louis’ lower lip and tugging at it to make Louis whimper low in his throat. Harry’s hands find Louis’ hips and pull him down against where Harry is rolling his hips up against Louis. 

“Okay, it can be a thing,” Louis relents, chuckling a little as he kisses Harry’s throat, soft and wet and sucking. Harry hums low and appreciative and Louis’ hands slide purposefully down Harry’s chest and over his abdomen to the waistband of his soft trackies. He rubs this thumb over the nickel of wet that’s formed on the material and bites his lip, smiling, before starting to pull the material down to free Harry’s cock.

“Wait,” Harry says, grabbing Louis’ wrists to still his hands. “Millie might cry and need to get out of her crib; you know how she’s been. If we’re out here, she might hear us – talking, and want to come out.”

Louis’ eyes narrow for just a moment but then he nods, presses his lips to the slight wing of Harry’s collarbone just where it peeks from the neckline of his t-shirt, and murmurs, “Bedroom then?”

He slides off Harry’s lap and holds out his hand, but Harry grabs onto Louis’ waist instead and lets his body slide along Louis’ front as he stands, their feet bracketed together. Standing, Harry has to bend down just a bit to kiss Louis’ upturned face, and he smiles against Louis’ mouth and groans once, softly, when Louis rolls his pelvis up against Harry’s again.

“Your room or mine?” Louis asks against Harry’s lips.

“Yours.” Harry tightens his hands around Louis’ hips and then relents and lets Louis lead him into his room.

Louis’ room is messier than Harry’s and they stumble over a discarded pair of bright red pants on their way to the bed.

“Ouch, shit – !” Harry swears as he steps on the buckle of a pair of braces and pitches over onto the bed, where he lands in a nest of shoes. “Lou, your bed’s a disaster.”

“That’s what she said,” Louis retorts. He goes to shut the door, smirking and red-cheeked.

“Wait,” Harry says quickly, “Maybe we – shouldn’t. If Millie has a tantrum then she’ll need a nappy or a bath again, and if the door’s shut – ”

This time, Louis frowns. “Harry, if you’ve realized that ‘gay for Louis Tomlinson’ really isn’t a thing – ”

“No, it’s – ”

“Whatever, Harry,” Louis says, slumping against the doorframe. “I get it. I’m a bit hurt ‘cause you got my hopes up, but that’s more my own fault. I knew you were straight. Just forget it.”

“Louis.”

“No, it’s fine. Just – we’ll pretend nothing ever happened and things will keep on as they have,” Louis says. His voice is flat and Harry _hates_ it but knows that once Louis’ gone stroppy, he won’t get a word in edgewise.

And besides, he doesn’t know what he wants to say.

“I do want you,” Harry whispers. “I am attracted to you, really.”

Louis swallows in the doorway and his eyes flick from the window over to Harry’s face. “I think you’ve convinced yourself you want me the same way you tried to want Clare. And I appreciate that, but… don’t make things worse for both of us doing something you don’t really want to.”

Then Louis disappears. The shower turns on about a minute later, but Harry is still lying, defeated, on Louis’ bed, surrounded by shoes. 

Harry sighs and rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. He’s cold and deflated and the small wet spot at the front of his pants is starting to stick and itch and he doesn’t understand how things soured so quickly.

It’s Louis.

It’s _Louis_ , for fuck’s sake.

They almost never fight – last month’s blowout notwithstanding – and he’s never… Harry has never seen Louis look quite that empty before, at least not on account of him. And he does want Louis. It’s not like Clare. At least he doesn’t think it is. Because Clare didn’t matter to him until Millie existed; sex with Clare was just something to do while everyone else was too high to function and they didn’t want to spoil everyone else’s fun. Louis is – it’s not like he thinks sex with Louis would be life-changing or anything because really, he’s not a Judy Blume character and he’s had more sex that meant nothing than sex that changed anything; Clare making Millie being the obvious exception, and maybe Caroline just because. 

But Louis isn’t Clare, and Louis isn’t Caroline, and Louis isn’t a random fangirl or radio cohost or craft services vendor. He was honest earlier: Louis is the only one he can see staying around for him and for Millie. And that makes all the difference. 

It’s _Louis_ , for fuck’s sake.

Harry sighs again and stands up, adjusts his pants with a scowl, and leaves Louis’ room. He stops on his way out the door to pick up the red trousers and folds them, leaving them in a neat square on Louis’ desk chair.

Then he goes into Millie’s room. She’s in her crib, curled around her brachiosaurus. Sound asleep.

Of course she is. She’s good at sleeping through the night in her own crib. 

He knows that.

And Louis knows it, too.

Harry bites his lips and reaches down into the crib to gently pull a lock of hair out of Millie’s mouth. She doesn’t even react other than to give a small snuffling snore, and Harry runs his thumb over her cheek. He loves her so much it’s still terrifying. Every day.

After a few minutes of staring at her, he backs out of her room and closes the door carefully, leaving it open just an inch. Louis pauses in the hall, water droplets beaded on his shoulders and a towel loose around his waist. Even with his hair wet and sticking up all odds and his eyes just the barest bit red, he looks good. Of course he does.

“Is Millie alright?” he asks quietly. One hand waits on his doorknob and the other rests on the knot of his towel. His voice is soft and concerned and apologetic and sad, but his blue eyes don’t waver from Harry, Harry in front of Millie’s door, because he just loves them both so much and Harry _knows_ that.

Harry swallows and crosses the hall in two strides to wrap his big hands around Louis’ hips again, shouldering them into the messy room and back down onto the bed. He frantically unknots the towel and drops down to press kiss after kiss across Louis’ thighs and up into the divots of his hip.

“Whoa, Harry, what’re you doing?” Louis asks, skittering hips shifting away from Harry’s mouth.

Harry looks up. “I was gonna suck you off.”

“Well, I got that.” Louis laughs shakily. “Why?”

“Because I want to,” Harry says. His fingers come up to stroke a wide line down the ticklish crease of Louis’ hip, his thumb just barely ghosting past the base of his dick. “And I can. I can be home and not – I can be here and be focused on myself and on you and what I want. What we want. That’s okay.”

Louis’ lips don’t smile but his eyes do, and he reaches down with one slightly-trembling hand to push Harry’s fringe out of the younger man’s green eyes. 

“Yeah, that’s okay,” he whispers.

“Do you want this?” Harry asks, suddenly a bit shy and unsure even as his breath ghosts over the V between Louis’ hips. “Us?”

Louis stares down at Harry – all bitten lips and huge pupils in green eyes and messy half-curled hair and long, long fingers – and he nods against the pillows. “Fuck yes.”

Harry licks his red lips and Louis’ cock plumps up beneath Harry’s fingers. Louis’ eyes flutter shut and his own hand drifts into Harry’s curls to hold them back and away from his face, but he opens them again to watch as Harry kisses and kitten-licks, pumping his hand, before fitting his mouth around.

Louis hums appreciatively and tries his best to keep his hips still, but after the third time Harry’s teeth catch, he can’t help twitching away a bit. Harry chokes and pulls off, coughing.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, swiping his hair out of his face. “Just – let me get it, I’ve almost got it.”

Louis touches his thumb gently beneath one of Harry’s eyes, right where his eyelashes have welled up wet while he was coughing, and says, “Why don’t you come up here and kiss me and then I’ll show you how it’s done?”

Harry grunts and flops over onto his back, but Louis just laughs and pulls Harry up by the armpits until their faces are level again and he can kiss Harry’s face, once, softly, just at the crest of his cheekbone. 

“Kiss me,” Louis requests again. His hand drifts over Harry’s chest and down to his stomach and Louis counts ribs on his way down. Harry grumbles again but turns his face so Louis can kiss his mouth, and he does, small sticking kisses that distract Harry while Louis works his t-shirt up until Harry has to lift his head to pull it off. Harry’s grumbles turn to a soft groan as Louis runs his hands over Harry’s bare skin. 

Harry hisses through his teeth when Louis straddles his thighs and leans down to kiss at the curve beneath Harry’s jaw. At the same moment, Louis’ palm finds Harry’s cock through the soft material of his trackies and he starts to rub firm, slow circles over it again, coaxing it back to life.

“You started too soon,” Louis explains. His voice is lower than Harry’s ever heard it, and rougher. Harry likes it. “It’s easier if they’re already all the way hard.”

Harry opens one eye and peers up at Louis. “David teach you that?”

Louis laughs, but his face flushes red a bit and he leans down to kiss Harry’s shoulder and drag his teeth over the flat of Harry’s chest to one of his nipples. He blows a stream of cool air across it before muttering, “No. Why d’you think I went to Ibiza?”

Harry huffs a surprised laugh, but Louis scrapes a bite over his side in admonishment and the laugh becomes a gasp. Louis smiles and kisses the same spot, just where it’s ticklish, and Harry mumbles nonsense under his breath and presses his fingers through Louis’ hair, not-so-subtly guiding him down to graze his teeth over Harry’s sharp hipbone.

“Impatient,” Louis chides, rolling down the waistband of Harry’s pants. Harry lifts his hips so Louis can pull them the rest of the way down and off and they hit the bedroom floor with a shushing _thump_. 

“Just anticipating your expert skills,” Harry sniffs. 

“Oh, shut up,” Louis says playfully, shifting on the bed. He slides up the length of Harry’s body skin-on-skin and Harry whimpers in the back of his throat as their cocks rib together. His hands settle on Louis’ waist as they kiss once and he digs his thumbs into the dimples at the base of Louis’ spine. Louis grinds down, testing, against Harry’s body and Harry whimpers again, his fingertips and nearly-invisible nails scraping into the round of Louis’ arse.

“There’s time for that later,” Louis whispers into Harry’s neck. “I think I told you I’d teach you how to give a proper blowjob.”

“Well, get to it then,” Harry says, and his green eyes have almost been swallowed by pupil but they sparkle anyway as Louis nips at his lip and shimmies back down to rest almost face-to-face with Harry’s dick.

Louis hums happily and touches Harry -- _finally_ \-- with a hand wrapped loosely around the base and the other resting over Harry’s chest, fingers just barely circling a nipple. “Don’t rush me,” he says mildly. “I’ve wanted this for a _long_ time.”

“Have you?” Harry asks. He tucks his lower lip between his teeth as he watches Louis through half-lidded eyes. Louis is different here, like this. He always looks good and he always looks confident, but there’s a weightlessness to him now, naked over Harry’s thighs, that makes him turn to beautiful and leonine and fucking sexy. He’s totally at home in his body – soft belly and wide thighs but such amazing arms and collarbones and all – like this and Harry’s only sorry he never saw it earlier.

“Mm-hmm,” Louis murmurs, dragging his hand lazily over Harry’s cock. His cheeks do go red this time, so Harry doesn’t ask again.

Instead, he just groans and widens his hips a bit on instinct and then Louis’ mouth is on him, soft lips and fluttering tongue and Harry groans again and tangles his fingers into Louis’ hair – 

And then Louis pulls off him and his hands press down on Harry’s hips, holding them flat to the mattress. “The first thing is to keep your teeth covered.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Harry pants. “I know that.”

“And you can do that with your lips, like this,” Louis’ mouth engulfs him and Harry’s muscles all tighten beneath Louis’ fingers. He backs off again and Harry snarls. “Or by using your tongue more.” 

Louis keeps holding Harry’s hips down but lets the fingers in his hair direct his head over Harry’s cock, licking kisses at the base and sucking down at the head. Harry hums and murmurs nonsense words for the unabashed, obscene sounds that Louis’ mouth makes.

Then, just as Harry’s muscles are twitching beneath Louis’ palms and he’s arching back against the pillows, long column of his throat exposed, Louis pulls away again.

“ _Louis_ – ”

“The most important thing to learn,” Louis says calmly, and his hand slides over the concave of Harry’s belly and up over his chest, over his jackrabbit heart to the hollow between his clavicles, “Is how to relax right – ” his fingers brush over Harry’s throat lightly. “Here.”

And then, as he slides his hand down again to draw patterns over Harry’s side, Louis takes him all the way down. His nose nuzzles into Harry’s soft hair and skin and Harry thinks he can feel his own pulse rerouting its way out of his brain. He chants under his breath, eyes squeezed shut, and his hands course frantically over Louis’ head and face and measure his jaw and wide mouth, fly over Louis’ throat and the join of his neck and shoulders and down around the wings of his shoulder blades to where Louis’ biceps are tight from holding Harry’s hips down.

Louis slides back up and licks demurely while he catches his breath and then takes him down again, again, again until Harry finishes and Louis swallows it all neatly, no mess, no fuss. He kisses over Harry’s sweaty hip and belly and neck up to his face, which he nuzzles fondly.

“And that’s how you do it.”

Harry laughs incredulously, hollow and boneless and breathless. “I don’t think that’s how I’ll _ever_ be able to do that.”

Louis sighs. “Well, there goes my motivation to live here. See you; I’m moving in with Zayn.” He moves to get out of bed.

“Fuck you,” Harry laughs, pulling Louis back down. Skin warm and sliding softly against Louis’ chest and belly and hips, Harry trembles a bit from sensation as Louis leans over him, teasing his mouth open with kisses.

Louis pulls back just enough to kiss his nose along the side of Harry’s and whispers, “Another night.”

Harry lets Louis kiss his lower lip again before he wraps one big hand around Louis’ bicep, his eyes going dark and soft and serious beneath drawn brows. “This needs to work, Lou. I can’t get into this with you if – it’s like you said back at the beginning, it sucks when your parent moves out on you, and I can’t – I owe it to Millie not to chase you away.”

Louis smiles and kisses the soft space just beside Harry’s mouth. “It’s a bit early to make big promises, Harry. But you know you’re both my family, and I really love you both. I’m not going to leave her no matter what happens with you. You know, however you need me, you’ll have me.”

Harry’s eyes flutter shut and he murmurs, “We love you, too.”

Louis knows it’s because Harry is young and he’s shy and his identity is so tangled up in everything _Harry Styles_ is meant to be that he has to say ‘we’ or he’ll feel guilty for days. And that’s okay. They have time; as much as they want. 

Louis kisses Harry’s neck and rolls off of him to settle on the pillows. He reaches down to the floor and pulls up his blankets. “Let’s get some sleep. Bean’ll be awake in a few hours.”

Harry rolls onto his side and Louis follows, curling around him. Harry pulls the blankets all the way up to cradle his ear, while Louis shoves his down to just barely pool around his waist. They don’t match, and Louis kicks Harry awake just before sunrise and Harry can’t sleep anymore, but it’s the most rested he’s felt in two years.

•••

When Louis wakes the next morning, he gets a mouthful of Harry’s hair and spends the first few minutes of their day off spitting curls. Then he props his chin on Harry’s shoulder to give the other boy a retaliatory gust of morning breath, but Harry just turns his head absently and kisses him.

“I think we should take Millie to the zoo today,” Harry says thoughtfully. “The weather’s supposed to be good and it’s a Wednesday so they won’t be too busy.”

Louis nods. “Okay.” Then he frowns.

“What?”

“Nothing, I’m just processing. My sex life got weird overnight,” Louis says. He has the worst case of ‘morning voice’ that Harry’s heard in him, and when he thinks about why, his belly feels warm. “Give head, go to the zoo.”

Harry laughs warmly and throws the covers off the bed. He stretches long and his toes dig into the foot of the mattress as his back cracks in a percussive line, once, twice, five sharp pops and he groans appreciatively. “Alright,” he sighs. “Up, up. Shower and breakfast and get things ready.”

Louis rolls his neck and shoulders and flops his feet onto the floor. He reaches out a hand as Harry’s bending to snatch up his trackies from the night before. 

“Shower together?” he suggests. “Save water and time? More responsible, really.”

Harry bites his lip, dimpling with a smile and twinkling eyes, but pats Louis’ cheek and shakes his head. “No, I’ve gotta get Millie out of the crib and start making breakfast. Another time.” His voice lowers. “You’re pretty when you’re wet.”

“Pretty?” Louis sniffs. “I’m fucking gorgeous.” 

Harry rolls his eyes and turns to step into the soft sweatpants, but before he can pull them up, Louis smacks his ass and darts out of the room stark-naked, running to the bathroom. 

“I want a proper fry-up if we’re going to be walking all day!” he calls, his voice still a bit gravelly and sweet. 

Harry laughs, feeling as light and sunny as the unseasonably mild, bright sky streaming through their windows, and finishes with the trackies. He shakes out his curls and heads into the room across the way, where Millie is quietly sat in her crib, pawing her way through _Skippyjon Jones_.

“Dog,” Millie greets Harry, pointing to Skippyjon. “Ears, face, birds. Bounce.”

“Very good,” Harry praises her, lifting her out of the crib. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He kisses her cheek.

Millie drops the book into the crib with a thump and kisses Harry right back. “Hi, Daddy.”

“Want to help me cook breakfast?” Harry asks, trodding down the hall to the kitchen. “Do you want to stir with a spoon?”

“Yish, yesh, yes!” Millie chants, clapping her hands against Harry’s chest. 

“Okay!” Harry enthuses, and they gallop the rest of the way to the kitchen while Millie shrieks and giggles.

By the time Louis gets out of the shower and makes his way to the kitchen, singing at the top of his lungs, Millie is sitting on the countertop with a wooden spoon clutched in both hands as she stirs up potato and egg to be fried, and Harry has one hand on Millie’s back and the other tending to a pot of boiling beans and a pan of frying eggs and Sainsbury’s oatcakes.

“Mmm, a sight for sore eyes,” Louis says, coming over to kiss Millie soundly on the head. “Proper Doncaster breakfast and this little princess.” He tugs on her toes and she grins at him. Then he looks up at Harry with exaggerated disdain and surprise. “And you, I guess. If Millie likes you, I guess you can stay.”

Harry looks wryly over his shoulder down at Louis, hesitates for a bare moment, then pecks him on the lips. Louis’ stomach bottoms out for a moment and he blinks up at Harry in shock, but Millie either doesn’t notice or, more likely, doesn’t think it’s anything unusual and doesn’t care, and the world doesn’t stop spinning, and she just keeps stirring her potatoes and the beans keep bubbling and it’s a Wednesday in London.

After they’ve finished eating and put the dishes to soak in the sink (and Millie, too, crusted in potato and fromage frais as she is) they finally tell Millie that they’re going to the zoo. It takes a few minutes to explain what a zoo is, but by the time she understands, Millie is beside herself with excitement and can’t stop running around the living room screeching monkey sounds at the top of her voice while Harry chases after her, trying to catch her long enough to get her dressed and into a clean nappy so they can leave. He accomplishes it eight minutes past when the cab’s arrived outside and they run outside with Millie’s arm through the wrong hole of her dress.

Even in her excitement, Millie gets quiet and shy when they reach the zoo. It’s surprisingly crowded for a Wednesday morning, and Millie clings into Harry’s chest. 

“It’s okay, Milliebean,” Louis assures her quietly as he pats down a few of her errant curls. “What do you want to see first? D’you want to see fishies?”

Millie nods into Harry’s neck and Harry kisses her head.

The aquarium is dark and cool and quiet, but it seems to lull Millie enough to raise her head. When they find the schools of tiny, neon-colored tetra fish, she perks right up and starts chattering excitedly, pointing to different fish and naming colors with no small amount of pride. Once they reach the tank with tomato clownfish and blue tangs, she wriggles and squeaks until Harry lets her down and she runs over to the glass.

“Oh, bean, don’t put your mouth on there,” Harry admonishes, pulling her away gently.

“Fish,” Millie insists, ducking out of his grasp to put her lips against the glass again. “Milliefish.”

“You’re being a fish?”

“Milliefish,” she repeats, kissing the glass.

“Don’t – that’s – weird,” Harry complains. “You’re gonna get sick.”

“Oh, let her,” Louis says, rubbing Harry’s shoulder. “What’s childhood without a case of the Zoo Herpes?”

Harry glares at him.

Millie sits quietly on the floor and watches the jellyfish for a long time before Harry pulls her up and into his arms and entices her with the idea of _other_ animals, pretty animals, and they leave the aquarium. She isn’t shy anymore and jabbers away as they walk outside in the warm spring sunshine as they walk past the wallabies and emu in Mappin Terraces. Louis buys a lemonade from the kiosk near the lizard house and lets Millie take a few big gulps.

Then she looks up at the exhibit they’re passing and her eyes go very round.

“Oooh,” Millie whispers, flattening her hand on the glass. “Pretty, pretty.”

Harry’s brow furrows and he looks from the giant lizard stalking towards them to his enraptured daughter. “What’s pretty, sweetheart? Do you see a butterfly?”

“Big-big,” Millie explains. Her green eyes are huge and shining. “Pretty!”

Harry’s face twists and he points to the komodo lumbering across its dry creek bed. “That? That’s what you think is pretty?”

“Mine!” Millie murmurs fervently, patting her hand on the glass. “Big-big-big.”

“She’s weird,” Louis comments. He pets the back of Millie’s head and tries to tame down some of her curls. “Giant poisonous lizard?”

“Maybe she’s confused,” Harry says. “Millie, what’s pretty? That big thing there walking? Or like – that big tree over here? Oh, no, there’s more in the tree. Yuck.”

“Chompchompchomp,” Millie chatters. “Big monster. Pretty.”

“What a little weirdo!” Louis laughs, rubbing Millie’s back.

Fixing her mooneyes on Louis, Millie swivels her head around and pats the glass again. “Mup,” she implores, “Mine. Mine mine mine? Mupplease?”

“I don’t think they’ll give us one, Milliebean,” Louis says. “They belong to the zoo.”

“Bee zoo,” Millie insists. She pouts, looks back to Harry, and tugs at his curls. “Daddy, Bee – see. Mine.”

Harry tilts his head. “What do you want, bean?”

Millie’s mouth screws up like she’s thinking very hard and then she points at the empty glass, the komodo dragon having lumbered off somewhere to feed. She pats the glass with her hand a few times and then says, very carefully, “Bee… mine see.”

Harry smiles at her and kisses her cheek. “Okay. Let’s go find him. I think he’s having lunch.”

“Food?”

“Yup, even big monsters get hungry,” Harry confirms as he tickles Millie’s belly. “And we’re gonna get lunch soon, too.”

“Monster food,” Millie agrees. She looks up at Louis and waves at him happily; Louis grins and his hand finds the small of Harry’s back, just resting gently as they walk further down the curved glass outside the Komodo dragon’s enclosure.

Harry reels back a bit as the lizard and his lunch come into view, stepping backwards and onto Louis’ toes as he mutters _oh, oh, oh_ in that way he does when he’s a bit taken aback.

There’s an entire half-buffalo on its way down the huge lizard’s throat all in one giant gulp, and it’s probably the most disgusting thing Harry has ever seen. He quickly turns around and bounces Millie a little to distract her. “I guess he’s gone to his house to eat lunch and we can’t see him. But we can get our lunch now and you can pretend to be a big monster. How’d’you like that?”

Millie frowns a bit and points back to the glass. “Big now. Food cats.” Her frown deepens. “Monster bad.”

“He’s not really _mean_ ,” Louis assures her. “He’s not hurting the buffalo.”

Millie flips her head around on Harry’s shoulder so she can look back at the lizard calmly licking its chops with a thin, forked, white tongue. There’s no sign at all of the buffalo. “No?”

“No,” Louis assures her, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

Millie purses her lips. “Pretty. Mine.”

“How about we get some lunch and then we’ll go look at some other animals and see if they’re just as pretty?” offers Harry, bouncing Millie a bit again and grinning at her. “What do you want to eat?”

“Fruit!” Millie cheers. 

“Okay, we can get smoothies,” Harry decides, and Millie kisses his face before tucking her head down on his shoulder as they head back into the crowd. Harry strokes his thumb in a pensive circle over the dip at the base of her skull before he leans a bit closer and whispers, “You don’t have to hide. These aren’t bad crowds. It’s the zoo. It’s for kids and everyone is nice.”

Eyes wide and mouth drawn, Millie peers up at Harry from his shoulder. “No pairs?”

Harry leans down and kisses her eyebrow. “Not like Paris. I promise.”

Millie thinks about it a minute and then lifts her head even as she clutches tightly onto the collar of Harry’s t-shirt. Louis rubs her back again soothingly from beside them, and they make their way over to the café near the children’s zoo. They pass the Galapagos tortoises on the way, to which Millie perks up and points and says urgently, “Leeyum! Danyell!” and the camels, which she decrees ‘bad cows.’ Harry buys her a small red smoothie with apples and strawberries.

That is where he first goes wrong.

Louis comes back with two ham-and-mustards for himself and Harry, and a little dish of chicken salad with grapes for Millie, and Millie coos happily and grabs for it, crushing a grape in her fist and wiping it on her dress. She’s already got red dribbles all down her front and Harry’s fringe is sticking to his face where she’d clearly reached up to pat his curls out of his eyes.

Harry looks up, harried. 

“She looks like a serial killer,” Louis states, sitting down across from Millie. She gnashes some chicken in his general direction, laughing. “Don’t you, weird little bean? Eating up your victims.”

“Chick’n,” she corrects him.

“That’s right,” he agrees, and hands Harry his sandwich. “She’s a right mess though. Did you bring her spare dress?”

Drinking his mango smoothie and playing with the wrapper of his sandwich, Harry furrows his brow. “Erm – I thought you did.”

“Why would I?” Louis asks. “You’re the one with the handbag.”

“ _It’s a day bag_ ,” Harry hisses. “ _Zayn_ has a handbag. And I didn’t bring it; I thought we’d have our hands full enough and you’d bring her dress.”

“Why would I?” Louis repeats. He shrugs and takes a bite of sandwich. “Buy her a set of trackies in the gift shop.”

This turns out to be easier said than done, since Millie refuses point-blank to wear anything that isn’t a dress and the shop doesn’t sell any. Her original dress is covered in mashed grape and splotches of smoothie and Harry finds an errant shred of chicken in her ear while he’s wrestling her out of the messy thing. Finally Louis comes rushing over with a red Perry the Panda dress he convinced the teenaged store clerk to go find in inventory in the back. Millie puts it on happily, and Harry and Louis autograph a few random books for the store manager and donate £32 to ‘adopt’ Raja, the huge Komodo dragon Millie found so “pretty.”

Millie very shyly shakes hands with the grinning girl behind the counter.

“You’re very pretty, Millie,” she says. “I like your hair.”

Millie nuzzles into Harry’s neck. He laughs and rubs her back. “What d’you say, Millie? It’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Millie whispers, then turns her head and holds her arms out for Louis. “Mup,” she beseeches.

Louis chuckles and takes her from Harry. “Oh, I see, Dad made you talk, so _now_ you like me.”

Millie just clings to him and buries her face in Louis’ chest, even as the shop girl and Harry laugh.

The girl looks from Harry to Louis and grins wider, looking almost peaky in her attempt to ‘stay cool.’ “You’re really cute, the three of you,” she says. “Larry Stylinson and their Millie.”

Harry and Louis share a smile that is altogether too telling, and Harry fits his arm around Louis’ waist. “Thanks.”

The shopgirl’s face flushes pink and she looks down at the counter, fiddling with the corner of one of the freshly signed books. “You should take her to Animal Adventure before school finishes for the day. The aardvarks, Kiyo and Misha, are probably awake, too; kids love them.”

“Would you like that, Millie?” Louis asks, bouncing her on his hip. “Meet some aardvarks?”

“Arthur-affabet,” Millie says, patting Louis’ cheek. “A-A-R-Z-B-Z-K-K.”

“That’s close enough,” Louis praises her and gives her a kiss. “Better than Liam could do.”

Harry and the shopgirl share a grin and a laugh, and then she tucks her hair behind her ear and says, boldly, “Would you follow me on Twitter?”

“Sure,” Harry says. He pulls out his phone. “What’s the name?”

She tells him and he grins, pulling up her page and clicking ‘Follow.’ The first tweet reads, _Rumor has it **@Harry_Styles** and **@Louis_Tomlinson** brought Millie 2 work 2day.. hope I can C them!_.

Harry tweets her _Thanks for the dress!_ and slips his phone back into his pocket. “Okay,” he says. “Animal Adventure it is. Millie, say goodbye!”

Millie, feeling less shy, waves and murmurs _g’bye_ and Harry strokes her curls fondly as he, his daughter, and Louis traipse out of the gift shop. 

Millie runs cockeyed and happily through the Roots Zone, all but completely ignoring the mongooses and prairie dogs, but balks at the Splash Zone and quite fussily hides behind Harry’s legs because she doesn’t want her new dress to get wet. (“Wish she’d thought of that with her last dress while she was eating lunch,” Louis mutters wryly in Harry’s ear.)

But the Touch Zone, with its fat kune-kune pigs and llamas, sends her into fits beside herself, shrieking and clapping and continuously being shushed by Harry, begging her _please_ not to scare the animals, _they like quiet, see? Be nice and gentle!_

This only serves to peeve her off with Harry, so it’s Louis’ hand she grabs to hop up and down and be led into the paddock to pet the sheep and goats while Harry, huffy himself now, stands at the gate and takes pictures on his phone.

It ends up working out for the best when he gets to tweet a photo of Louis howling while a goat chomps on his striped t-shirt. Millie falls onto her bottom laughing at him, and a sheep sneezes on her face. Once a zookeeper helps Louis get free with a minimum of his shirt lost and apologetically gives him some wet-wipes to clean sheep saliva out of Millie’s hair, he scoops her up and they go over to pet some chickens.

Millie frowns deeply and looks up into Louis’ face. “Chick’n?”

“Mm-hmm,” Louis says, preoccupied with the wet shred that used to be the bottom of his shirt.

“Food chicken,” Millie says, sounding horrified. “Bee bad!”

“No, no, no,” Louis assures her, holding out her hand so she can pet the chicken’s feathers. “Well, depending on who you ask, then maybe, but me and Harry don’t think so. You’re not bad, Millie.”

Millie looks subdued, though, so Louis leads her over to the pygmy pigs before she can think too much more about it. She pets them happily enough and giggles wildly when their wet noses slop all over her fingers, and Louis is just grateful that bacon and ham are called bacon and ham.

By the time Millie is done playing with the kune-kunes, the local schools must have gotten out for the day because aside from the usual warm-weather swarms of nannies and kiddies, there are throngs of teenage girls mulling about the Big Cats pavilion and Meet the Monkeys terrace, where Millie delights in seeing the monkeys and insists on climbing on Harry’s shoulders the way the monkeys climb on the ropes. She’s wholly too riled up for the butterfly exhibit and approaching too tired and fussy to be out in public, so after Louis notices that they’re being trailed at increasingly close distance by a loud crowd and Millie cries a bit with her head tucked into Harry’s neck after the macaws’ screams scare her, they decide to call it a day. Millie’s a bit small still to make it through the whole zoo.

To cheer her, though, they head back into the gift shop and let her pick out whatever she wants. 

There are so many stuffed animals that they need to take their own separate taxi home. Millie chooses a big plush alligator nearly her own height and a tiny pink squirrel to sit in her lap in Harry- and Louis’ taxi, and falls asleep chewing on the gator’s snout.

It takes Louis nearly an hour and a call to Liam to haul all of the animals up to the flat and tip their driver. By the time they’ve all been dumped on the living room floor, Millie is conked out in her crib with the alligator and Harry is flat-out on his belly, drooling on Louis’ pillows.

Louis wonders when he became the responsible one and brews himself a cup of tea. Then he and Liam play with the stuffed animals, in the guise of ‘putting them away,’ for a few hours until Niall BBMs Liam, bored, and they rouse Harry and Millie and call over Danielle and Zayn so they can all get a Thai takeaway.

Millie’s eyes are bleary and her curls are terribly disheveled from all the sheep mucus and smoothie and sleep, but she perks up when she sees their guests.

“Danyell!” she cries, dragging her alligator over at top toddler speed. 

Danielle scoops her up and chucks her on her hip. “Hi, there, pretty! What did you do today?”

“Zoo!” Millie informs her. “Annimols! Sneeze-yucky. Monster food cats.”

“Do you mean the lions? Big cats that eat lots of things?”

“No – monster. Mine,” Millie shows her the alligator. “Pretty. Food cats!”

“She means the komodo dragons,” Harry explains, yawning. “That little weirdo.”

“Yeah, H, that _is_ odd they’re her favorite,” Louis says. “Don’t girls her age usually like koalas and dancing pandas and unicorns and such?”

“Well, screw that,” Danielle says, bouncing Millie on her knee and tickling the little girl’s sides. “Millie likes what she wants. Right, Mills?”

“Yesh!” Millie laughs, wriggling away from the tickling fingers and padding across the floor to fall into a huge pile of stuffed animals.

Niall goes to the door to handle the delivery. Liam puts his arm around Danielle and kisses her shoulder. Louis plonks himself happily down into Harry’s lap and Harry puts his arms around his waist, then kisses the back of his head.

Danielle and Liam look on expectantly while Zayn rolls his eyes – Louis can see him hiding a smile by looking deeply into his iPhone, probably at some DM.

Harry shrugs. “It was time, wasn’t it?”

Liam and Danielle share a little secret smile as they watch Harry watching Millie, Louis fiddling with his phone from his perch in Harry’s lap. Niall saunters back in with the food, and everyone seems to be in their place. Liam sets to divvying everything up on plates, and everything is peaceful.

Then, Louis looks up at Harry with no small amount of horror in his blue eyes.

“‘Has been known to attack and eat people,’” Louis reads, staring at his iPhone. “‘Komodo dragon saliva contains over 50 species of bacteria and is virulently toxic. Dragons kill large prey by rushing from ambush along game trails, biting at legs and tendons, maiming the animal and then trailing the injured animal until septicemia sets in and kills it. Baby dragons live mostly in trees for the first 2-4 years to avoid being eaten by larger dragons.” He looks up. “H, what on earth did we do wrong that she _likes_ this thing?”

Millie laughs hard enough to dribble a bit of pork and red sauce out of her lips and down her chin. There are shards of meat still gnashing between her teeth and red covering her hands. She looks deranged. “Monster!” she cackles. “Bee-monster!”

Louis burrows closer to Harry and hides his face in Harry’s chest. “What have we unleashed on the world?”

•••

>   
> **What makes you SPOILED: One Direction teen dad Harry Styles buys out ZSL gift shop for daughter**  
>  _Experts say spoiling children with material goods leads to personality disorders_  
>  Despite One Direction’s declining chart numbers (while first single “What Makes You Beautiful” hit #1 and ultimately won a BRIT Award in a voter category, subsequent singles “Gotta Be You” and “One Thing” peaked at #3 and #9) it seems like Harry Styles, 18, has no problem flashing his cash.
> 
> Styles, who was recently linked to Xtra Factor presenter Caroline Flack, 32, took his young daughter to the London Zoo yesterday with One Direction bandmate, roommate, and “co-parent” Louis Tomlinson, 20. ZSL staff say that the pair and child, whose mother is unknown, were “well-behaved” and “model zoo visitors,” and even donated £32 towards the upkeep of a zoo animal. Styles uploaded a photo to his twitter yesterday afternoon of Tomlinson being attacked by a goat in the zoo’s new Animal Adventure Children’s Zoo. All three were described by lookieloos and zoo staff as “casually dressed.”
> 
>               **More…  
>               • Penguin spa! London Zoo unveils new £2m pool area  
>               •Caroline Flack 'offered £500,000 to be the face of cougar dating website'**
> 
> At the end of their visit, Styles forked out over £800 on stuffed toys for baby Millie, 17 months. Styles has made a habit of spending obscene amounts of money on his lovechild, as well as past paramour Flack and “roommate” Tomlinson: in January, the young lad popped £1000 for a Mulberry bag for Flack, while the flat he and Tomlinson share is on the market for up £2mil. 
> 
> “Styles is enjoying One Direction’s burst of success,” says an unnamed source close to the band. “The boys [Styles, Tomlinson, Niall Horan (18), Zayn Malik (19), and Liam Payne (18)] all grew up normally before X Factor and he is relishing his chance to give Millie everything she could want.”
> 
> Child psychology experts, however, say that Styles’ parenting may be harmful to baby Millie.
> 
> “A child who is spoiled or idealized will grow into an adult who expects this pattern to continue,” says Bristol-based child psychiatrist Dr. Ellen Thomas. “To develop a realistic image of the self the child must be provided with realistic information of discipline and reasonable limits must be set by the parents as to what the child can and cannot do. Spoiling a child fosters an unrealistic view of life.” 
> 
> “Narcissistic parents often raise spoiled children,” adds Dr. Thomas Eltinwell of Tottenham. “These children are used by damaged parents to regulate their own self-esteem. It is especially common with both teenage parents and parents in the entertainment industry. This parenting style most often creates selfish people with questionable morals who are somewhat hard to live with.”
> 
> Styles himself was recently told off by One Direction management for not looking like a team player; it sounds like he’s setting up his daughter to behave the same way. 
> 
> One Direction recently sold out tickets for an arena tour of the UK and Ireland in 2013.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	17. Chapter 17

“Harry!” Niall calls, bursting into the flat on a sunny day in March, “I’ve seen your daughter’s commercial so many times I’m starting to forget the real alphabet.” He toes off his shoes and shuts the door. “What comes after R and U?”

Harry sticks his head out of the kitchen. “V. But you missed an S and a T in there.”

“No,” Niall says. “ _Ready_. Are you ready? Lou’s already texted me twice.”

Harry wipes his hands on his jeans as he comes out of the kitchen to meet Niall. “That’s the worst joke I’ve heard all day, and I live with Louis and a toddler.”

“Well, they weren’t home today,” Niall demurs. “But if you watched telly it was probably like they was, ‘cause Millie’s thing is really on all the time. Gets stuck in my head.”

“Well, it probably should, seeing as it’s our own song,” Harry laughs, shrugging into a jacket. “That reminds me, I have to go get one of the juices for her to get photographed drinking at dinner. Just give me a second.”

With One Direction’s calendar looking a little sparse after the Up All Night Tour’s UK & Ireland leg – with a trip to Australia coming up in a month, to which Harry was much looking forward, although the prospect of spending nearly a full day and night on an airplane with Millie was tasking – and articles overexamining Harry- and Louis’ newfound closeness cropping up with increasing frequency in the press, Harry had finally decided to compromise and let Millie take _one_ of her spokesbaby offers. She genuinely liked the juice and kids’ smoothies from this company, anyway, and the commercial shoot had been easy: cameras had simply followed Millie around for a day, and they’d cut the cutest bits into a commercial with a soft, acoustic version of ‘What Makes You Beautiful’ superimposed in the background.

The commercial culminated with Millie joyfully singing her personal version of the ‘affabet’ that day – “A-B-C-E-D-E-E… Eight… -I-A-L-N-M-N-L-P… O-G!” and, to Harry’s fuming embarrassment, lifting her red dress to show off her belly.

It was a very successful commercial. All Harry and Millie had to do now, in return, was be photographed out and about as often as possible drinking from their brand of juice – and _never_ drinking any of their competitors. Millie didn’t seem to mind.

Press reactions, though, were mixed: while everyone agreed that Millie was adorable, there had been articles in 3AM Magazine about Harry trying to ‘cash in before One Direction flames out,’ and suppositions – unfortunately, not entirely incorrect – that the deal was largely to shift focus away from speculations about their home life. One parents’ group worried that Millie’s physical and verbal development were so disparate that Harry was irresponsible in not having her tested for a disorder in the Autism spectrum; another argued that her walking was being hampered by the amount of time she must surely spend cooped up in tour buses, airplanes, and play pens. 

No one, at least no one publishing op-eds in the trash periodicals, thought Harry seemed like a good father with a cute, intelligent, happy baby.

“Hey,” Louis whispered in Harry’s ear at night in bed, curled around each other tightly, “It’s okay. Everyone who knows you or Millie knows how great a dad you are. She’s happy with you. That’s more’n either of us could say for our dads.”

“But that’s it, isn’t it?” Harry had asked, wet-eyed, with his lips moving on Louis’ shoulder. “We don’t know how to be dads ‘cause we didn’t have good ones at her age.”

So Louis would just kiss Harry’s hair and rub his back, and the next day they would wake up and go out on their respective publicity stunts away from each other for as long and as cheerfully as they needed.

Millie had spent the day out with Louis and Eleanor at the London SEA LIFE Aquarium, and now Harry, Niall, Liam and Danielle, and, in their first tentative public appearance, Zayn and Perrie were due to join them for dinner. Harry grabs a bottle of apple juice from the refrigerator and drops it into his daybag, then jogs back out to meet Niall at the door, sliding his boots on as they tromp down the hall to the elevator.

“Have you talked to Lou much today?” Niall asks, leaning against the back wall of the elevator on their way downstairs.

“He’s sent me some pictures of Mills exploring at the aquarium,” Harry says. “But he never talks to me much when he’s with El.”

“You don’t really like her much, do you?”

Harry sighs. “It’s not like I dislike her. I just don’t know her. It’s complicated, with her and Gemma and her and Louis and I just don’t… have time for that. I mean, if I like her too much, like, that’s betraying Louis I think because he shouldn’t have to feel like he needs to look – whatever, but then that’s also not fair to her, and then if I don’t like her, then it’s unfair to Gemma, so I just… don’t feel anything.”

“Does Millie like her?” Niall asks curiously. “She always likes girls, though.”

“She always likes everyone,” Harry says fondly. “It’s one of her better qualities.”

“Ah, you don’t think she has _any_ not-good qualities,” Niall teases as he holds open the door of their cab for Harry to slide across the seat and give him room.

“That’s not true!” Harry protests. “I’m realistic. I can tell she’s demanding, and like… she really likes to argue and say ‘no’ about everything. And she won’t hear a word on toilet training still.”

“Well, she’s really young for that,” Niall says. “I don’t think I could do it ‘til I was like, five.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Harry says drily. “But with her able to talk as well as she can, she should be able to understand it. But she just screams.” He pauses. “That’s a bad thing about her. She screams a lot lately. Not like crying, just – she’s really loud.”

When they arrive the Chinese restaurant, and their camera-convenient outdoor seating in the shadow of Big Ben right on the water, Millie gives them a taste of that screaming by shrieking, “Daddy! Daddy, Daddy, Nayyol!” and running over as fast as her short, pigeon-toed legs could carry her.

Harry swoops her up in a hug and gives her a squeeze before tossing her in the air. He catches her close to his chest and kisses her face. “Hi, sweetiebean. What did you see today?”

“Crock-o’dires,” Millie tells him excitedly, chewing on her fingers. “Ottopis!”

“Crocodiles and octopus?” Harry asks. “That’s exciting! What else did you see?”

“Camma,” Millie says ruefully, smudging her fringe around on her forehead. “Splash.”

“The cameras flashed?” Harry asks sympathetically. He kisses her nose. “I’m sorry, sweetie.”

“Odobo,” Millie says, and shrugs. “Muppie-Edderder-Bee, no. Muppie, Bee, Daddy, gogogo.”

Harry shakes his head and Millie catches onto his nose affectionately. “No go, go, go, silly. Muppie and Bee and Daddy are going to eat food. Do you know who else is coming?”

“Nayyol!” Millie says enthusiastically, and she gives Niall a toothy, wet grin and waves at him.

“That’s right,” Harry enthuses back. “And Liam, and Danielle, and Zayn, and Perrie.”

“Zang!” Millie shrieks, bending backwards over Harry’s protective arms to flail happily. Once a week, Millie spent a few hours with Zayn in the afternoon so Harry and Louis could have time alone together to learn to be a couple outside of their role as her parents, and – to Louis’ amusement and Harry’s disgruntlement – Millie would arrive home and jabber about nothing else but _Zang, Zang, Zang_ for the rest of the day. 

“I think she’s got a crush,” Louis would always tease. “Like daddy like daughter; she’s got a thing for cougars.”

Harry would give Louis a sour face and grumble menacingly, but in all truth Millie was the same about her weekly dance lessons with Danielle to work on her knees and all of her playtime with Lux, whom she saw as her personal responsibility. She just loved people and liked making friends.

“That’s right, bean,” Harry agrees, hauling her back up so as not to drop her. “You get to see all your friends today. Except Luxie.”

“Luxie baby,” Millie reports knowingly to Niall. “Bee big, Bee girl.” She reaches out her arms for Niall and pouts until Harry passes her over to give Niall a wet-nosed hug.

Niall lets Millie hold onto his fingers as they traipse back over to the table where Louis and Eleanor are waiting; Harry gives Louis a warm hug, and, feeling the cameras at his back, kisses Eleanor on the cheek.

“Y’alright?” he asks her.

“I’m well,” she says. “Millie’s always a treat. She sure likes big lizards, though.”

“She’s like that – erm, that girl, whose dad was the crocodile hunter? She has her own kids’ show now that Millie likes?” Louis says, pulling out Eleanor’s chair for her so she could sit down. She gives him a light smile and sits before taking a compact out of her handbag to fix her hair.

“Bindi Irwin?” Harry asks. “I guess a bit. We should see if Millie could meet her when she’s a bit older. Millie, I mean. Although I suppose that would make Bindi older, too.”

Louis makes a face and shakes his head, laughing. “I missed you today, H,” he says softly. “You and your unassailable logic.”

“Muppie!” Millie shrieks then, and they look over to see her crouched on the pavement, poking at something on the ground at Niall’s feet. “Dizzar?”

“I can’t see that far, little bean,” Louis calls back. “But I don’t think it’s a lizard.”

“I told you, Millie,” Niall says patiently. “That’s a bug.”

“No,” Millie argues, and keeps poking at whatever it is. “Guss.”

“No, don’t try to get its guts,” Niall sighs. “Millie – ”

But she’s already picked up whatever it is and is trotting over to show Louis. “Muppie?”

“That’s a rolly-polly bug,” Louis explains. “See when you touch it, he rolls up?”

Millie promptly drops to the ground and curls up in a little ball, nappy poking out of the top of her shorts. The bug escapes her slack hand and scurries away. 

“That’s right,” Louis says, smiling at her with soft eyes, and touches Millie’s head. She pops up again, waving her arms, and Louis gives her a tickle. Millie squeaks and wriggles away to hide behind Harry’s legs. Under the table, Harry sneaks his hand onto Louis’ leg and squeezes his thigh; Louis slips his hand down to cover Harry’s and they lace their fingers together out of view of the cameras across the way.

When Liam and Danielle arrive, Millie makes a beeline for Danielle and clings onto her like a chatterbox shadow. She tells Danielle in painstaking detail about every animal she’d seen earlier at the aquarium, and her little fingers play enviously with Danielle’s curls. Danielle, to her credit, listens with great interest and just pulls a small flower barrette from her handbag to fix Millie’s own disastrous mop of hair.

Millie jumps up and runs toward Zayn when he and Perrie finally make it to the rest of them, after the sun’s begun to blaze orange and set high over the skyline of the city, but she skids to a stop and gets immediately bashful, straightening her dress and staring with wide eyes at the sight of Perrie.

Zayn frowns and picks her up. “What’s up, Acchi?”

Millie, still round-eyed, points at Perrie. “Lilmix,” she breathes reverently, then hides her face in Zayn’s neck when Perrie smiles.

Zayn rubs Millie’s back. “Do you like Little Mix?”

Millie nods into his neck and mumbles a string of nonsense words, then curls a little further in on herself like she’s embarrassed. Zayn chuckles, and Perrie reaches up to adjust Millie’s barrette.

“Hi, Millie,” she offers. “I like your hair. It’s very pretty. I’ve been really excited to meet you.”

“Hi,” Millie whispers, peeking over Zayn’s shoulder.

“Can you sing me the alphabet?” Perrie asks encouragingly. 

Millie goes pink to the roots of her hair and shakes her head desperately before burying her face in Zayn’s neck again.

Perrie looks up at Zayn, then over at Harry. “Does she realize she’s related to _One Direction_?” she asks. “That’s much more excitin’ than just me.”

Harry huffs a soft, sympathetic laugh as he takes Millie back from Zayn and lets her curl up on his lap, her face rested against his chest and her hand tucked into the neck of his t-shirt, until their food comes. Once she’s secured in her booster, she watches the conversation of the adults so intently that she keeps dribbling her mild vegetable-and-tofu soup all down her front, the spoon missing her mouth as she tries doggedly to feed herself.

“Millie?” Harry asks, tickling the bottom of her foot gently with one long swipe, “Do you want some help with that spoon?”

“No!” Millie insists, and misses her mouth entirely. “Bee big! Mmm, guss.”

“Well, if it’s good, don’t you want it in your mouth?” Harry asks. “Let me help you.”

Millie’s brow furrows and she growls through her nose. “No.”

She digs the spoon into her soup and misses her mouth again, then studies the spoon with a glare. She flings it over her shoulder and just leans down to lap at the soupbowl like a dog.

Harry and Louis both sigh while the rest of their party all burst into laughter. Millie sits up with soup all over her face and says, quite primly, “Mmm. Guss.”

Harry folds both of his hands over his eyes, moaning that he’s an absolute failure, and Louis ruffles Harry’s hair soothingly before switching seats to pull Millie closer and feed her with his own spoon. He drains the bowl of its broth and they let Millie squish her merry way through handfuls of tofu and soft, cut vegetables, and that seems to work much better.

Between the end of their main meal and the coming of dessert and drinks, Perrie stands up. Millie’s eyes follow her intently.

“I’m going to the loo,” she says, and drops her napkin on her chair. “Does anyone need to come?”

“Yeah, I will, I think,” Eleanor says, sliding out of her own seat. 

Danielle smiles at Millie. “Do you want to come with us, Millie? Want to come with the girls?”

Millie’s eyes brighten. “Bee girl!”

“That’s right,” Danielle says, and unbuckles Millie from her seat. “You are! Oh, dear, sweetie, you’re all messy.”

Millie holds out the front of her soupy dress mournfully. “Bee guss… mess, tennobols.”

“That’s okay,” Danielle says, and rests her hand on the back of Millie’s head to comb through her tangled hair and gently propel her forward to trot alongside the rest of the girls to the toilets. “We’ll clean you up.”

“They start early, going in groups,” Niall comments, eating the remainder of meat and crisply burnt sauce off a sparerib bone. “I’ve always wondered.”

“Maybe this will help her realize the toilet won’t eat her,” Louis says hopefully to Harry. Their ankles knock beneath the table. “Would make our lives easier.”

“Maybe,” Harry agrees. His voice softens, so Liam, Zayn, and Niall kindly start a spirited discussion with each other, and Harry leans in towards Louis, heads inclined close together. “You alright?”

“Yeah, sure,” Louis says, a little too brightly. “Just… excited to go home.” He checks over Harry’s shoulder in the direction of the paparazzi’s cameras and lowers his voice even more. “I just want to get you in bed.”

“Yeah?” Harry breathes, “What are you gonna do once we get there?”

Louis licks his lower lip and his eyes flick over Harry’s face. He leans a little closer and whispers in Harry’s ear, “I want you to fuck me.”

Harry sucks in a breath and tightens his fingers on Louis’ thigh beneath the table. “Really?”

Louis nods. “I really do.” He grabs Harry’s wrist and brings his hand up to lay against the bulge in his jeans under the tablecloth. “I really, really do.”

Harry’s breath comes faster, and he presses teasingly with the heel of his at the bulge of Louis’ hard cock, rubbing lightly with his thumb. “Okay.”

“Daddy!” Millie’s sharp, giggling shriek makes both Louis and Harry jump and cough and spring apart from each other. Harry looks over his shoulder to where Millie is racing towards him while Louis adjusts himself discreetly. 

Millie’s curly hair is pulled back away from her face in two little French braids held by flower barrettes, and she has a stain of bright pink lipstick on her mouth. Her dress’ front is damp, but mostly clean. She holds out her skirt and spins once, toppling over and pushing herself back up. 

“Bee girl!” she explains, then moves to lift up her skirt. She glances at Danielle, who shakes her head. “No tummies,” she says solemnly. She pats her braids and grins delightedly. “Edderder,” she explains. 

“Oh, really?” Harry asks, and lets Millie climb up onto his lap. “Eleanor did your hair?”

“Yish,” Millie nods. She pats her mouth. “Lilmix!”

“And that’s Perrie’s lipstick?”

“Yish. Bee girl,” she explains. “Pretty!”

Harry kisses Millie’s forehead gently. “Yes, you are pretty. But you don’t need to wear Perrie’s lipstick to be pretty. You’re pretty all the time.”

“Bee guss mess agogogo,” Millie explains, shaking her head and patting her tummy. “Baff.”

“Yeah, you do need a bath when you get home,” Harry says, and tickles her back. Millie giggles and squirms and then settles down against Harry’s chest to suck at her fingers and watch everyone else chatting and drinking. By the time Millie falls asleep, her lips are clean, but there’s a bright pink lipstick mess all over her hand and the collar of her dress.

She’s down for the count and barely murmurs when they carry her into the cab home and up to the flat. Harry slips the damp dress off her, but it’s a warm spring night and her nappy is dry, so he lays her down in the crib with her blue blanket and her alligator and she cuddles up with them, warm enough. He’d just rather not wake her and have to deal with several more hours of her renewed energy. Plus, she would enjoy still having her braids in the morning, if her raucous sleeping didn’t destroy them.

He kisses her head and backs out of the room, and his hand trails over Louis’ waist as Louis tiptoes in to kiss Millie goodnight, too.

After her door snicks shut and Louis emerges, Harry slips his arms around Louis’ waist. His hands slide down over Louis’ arse, fingers tucked into the back pockets of his tight jeans. 

Harry exhales and rests his forehead against’ Louis. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Louis’ hands trace their way up Harry’s arms to span his strong shoulders. His palm covers Harry’s cheek, thumb caressing lightly, and he lifts his face as he murmurs, “Kiss me right now.”

Harry smiles and takes another breath to relax his mouth before fitting it against Louis’, sucking lightly at Louis’ lip. The tip of his tongue just barely flits over the curve before Louis touches his own tongue to it, urging Harry to lick into his mouth and groan into the kiss. They kiss differently; Louis is enthusiastic but restrained, almost delicate, all sucking, nipping lips, like he’s giving Harry room to pull away at any moment. Harry kisses deeply and almost messily, his tongue counting Louis’ teeth like he wants to memorize and consume every inch of him, every tiny bone.

Finally, Louis pulls his head back, and leaves an open-mouthed kiss over Harry’s adam’s apple. “Hi.”

“You said that,” Harry points out, laughing without breath. “I love kissing you.”

“You’re not terrible,” Louis equivocates playfully, giving the back of Harry’s curls a sharp tug. He winks.

Harry doesn’t bite. “I mean it,” he says earnestly. “I wish I could – all the time. At the restaurant. Or… just all the time, basically.”

“Maybe someday,” Louis murmurs. He leans in to Harry’s throat again and sucks another wet kiss that makes Harry shiver. “I’m more concerned with you kissing me right now.”

Harry’s face flushes pink and it makes Louis smile. He pulls Harry into his bedroom and shuts the door carefully so that it’s almost silent. He kicks a pair of discarded bright green trousers out of the way and pushes Harry down on the bed.

Harry grins as he bounces against the mattress, propped up on his elbows, staring at Louis as Louis shucks off his jumper and t-shirt.

“In a hurry?”

“I want you,” Louis answers honestly. “I don’t see the point in waiting.”

“We have to be quiet,” Harry warns, and Louis rolls his eyes, because – like he doesn’t know that. He sidles closer and Harry’s huge hands wrap around Louis’ waist, pulling him up close in the v of Harry’s legs where he sits draped over the edge of the bed. Harry kisses Louis’ stomach, his tongue lapping over Louis’ navel and teeth nipping at his skin where he’s soft and undefined. Under the insistent, slow, careful rubbing circles of Harry’s warm palm, Louis hardens behind his jeans and groans in the back of his throat, fingers playing through Harry’s curls.

“I think I’m gonna do really well this time,” Harry informs Louis with a cheeky smirk. “You’re gonna be impressed.”

Louis snorts. Harry’s still kind of terrible at this. His gag reflex is just too strong – but the enthusiasm of trying to work on it helps a little. “Okay.”

“Really,” Harry insists, nimbly undoing Louis’ jeans. “I was looking it up online while you were out today – ” Louis coughs and it sounds suspiciously like _porn addict_ but Harry just barrels on – “And I’ve got some ideas now.”

“Have at,” Louis says graciously, sighing with relief as Harry peels down Louis’ tight jeans and his Topman boxer-briefs with them, freeing him. Harry hums and licks his lips, adjusting his own prick in his trousers and shifting on the bed to have better access to pump once, slowly, over Louis’ cock to feel the weight of him in his hand. He kisses the tip of Louis’ cock and lets the bead of precome smear over his lower lip, and Louis sighs, his fingernails scratching across Harry’s scalp.

Harry licks long, warm, wet stripes over the sides of Louis’ cock to slick the way for his hand to pump faster, and his hot breath puffs over Louis’ skin to give him gooseflesh all across his hips and a shiver down his thighs. Harry takes a deep breath and his forehead creases with concentration as he fits his mouth over the head, licking and sucking lightly, his tongue fluttering over the slit.

“Yeah,” Louis whispers, bracing his free hand on Harry’s shoulder to resist the urge to move his hips. “That’s better, that’s good.”

Harry pulls back again and licks his lips, then looks up at Louis. His green eyes are almost black, pupils huge and hand insistent and hot as it jacks over Louis’ cock. “Can – I wanna try something?”

“Okay,” Louis says. “I’ll do whatever you want to do.”

“Keep – do it to yourself a second,” Harry says, and Louis squeezes himself hard at the base as Harry shifts on the bed again to lie on his back, head tipped over the side of the mattress, exposing the long, pale line of his throat. “If you can – like, reach, then I guess you can’t gag like this?”

“You don’t have to – ”

“I want to,” Harry interrupts. “Louis, _please_ let me suck your dick. I want you to like it.” He reaches out and trails his fingers over the cut of Louis’ hipbones. “Come on. Just to try.”

Louis lets out a shaky breath and steps up closer; he guides his cock towards Harry’s mouth and Harry licks at the head gratefully, humming, his hands sliding up the backs of Louis’ thighs and kneading absently. Louis inches his hips forward, and it’s not far before Harry gags again and Louis has to pull back so he can cough, red-faced, before muttering _it’s alright, come on, ‘m ok_ \-- but it’s better than before. After a few tries, Harry’s relaxed enough to get half of Louis comfortably into his mouth and his right hand works over the remainder in short, sharp, twisting tugs that make Louis’ abdomen jump. Harry’s left hand alternates between raking his fingernails over the soft swell of Louis’ arse and gently teasing featherlight brushes over the flutter of muscle between Louis’ cheeks.

Louis struggles to keep his eyes open, staring down at the long, lean expanse of Harry’s body stretched over the bed. His hands rest on Harry’s chest to brace himself, and he can feel Harry’s nipples – the main two – harden into tight nubs beneath his t-shirt. Louis circles over them with the pads of his fingertips and he can feel the vibration of Harry’s groan through his throat. 

Louis keeps rubbing at Harry’s nipples with one hand, caressing over Harry’s broad chest, and his other hand slides down over Harry’s abs to the fly of Harry’s own tented trousers. With Harry’s t-shirt rucked up by Louis’ hands, he can see that the shiny head of Harry’s cock is peeking over the waistband of his jeans, leaking a pool of precome onto his smooth belly. Louis rubs over the slit with one teasing finger, and Harry’s moan is sharp and needy.

“Keep going,” Louis says gruffly, tearing one-handed and clumsy at Harry’s button fly. Once he gets it open, Harry lifts his hips instinctually and Louis pushes the jeans and briefs down just far enough to get out Harry’s prick and balls and, carefully avoiding pushing too far into Harry’s mouth, Louis leans down and licks over Harry’s cock.

Harry pulls back and swears and huffs a hard gasp over the wet skin of Louis’ dick, his hand making obscene noises as he works a few long, desperate tugs before leading it back into his mouth. Louis holds Harry’s hips down to the mattress with one hand and uses the other to help him guide Harry’s cock between his lips, groaning at how hot and how hard Harry is just from sucking him off. He gets a few good, deep thrusts in before his cock slips out of Harry’s mouth again, catching on teeth, and Louis groans – this time in frustration.

“Hold on,” he pants, and carefully shuffles back, sucking in quickly through his teeth and holding his dick hard at the base. “Get your clothes off.”

Harry strips off faster than Louis’ ever seen him, which is saying something, and he stares up at Louis with needy, round eyes, almost innocent, as he slides his hand slowly over his own hard cock, just trying to keep some sensation and take the edge off. “What do you want?”

Louis looks torn. “I want – god, I want to ride you, but I need to just come now – I could try it without prep, but – ”

“No!” Harry says, shaking his head. “Don’t hurt yourself, just – I can make you feel good getting you ready, and it’ll be good, Lou, I promise, just – ” Harry’s free hand smooths up over Louis’ soft belly and hard chest, palm flattening over the hollow where he can feel Louis’ heart racing. “Lie down.”

Harry’s not new to anal sex, but he’s new to sex with men – and he’s new to sex with Louis. He still gets nervous and his hands shake, slopping too much lube onto his fingertips and leaving spots on the sheets. But he can get Louis shaking and begging under his breath, fingers clutched onto Harry’s biceps, with three fingers curling inside Louis. His belly is a mess of streaky trails of precome by the time Louis opens his legs up wide enough for Harry’s hips to fit between them, and the head of Harry’s cock nudges at Louis’ hole.

“Wait, wait, wait – ” Louis gasps, squeezing Harry’s arm. “Condom’s a good idea, just for – mess. Trust me.”

Harry nods, and tries to shake his curls out of his eyes. His forehead is too sweaty and his hair sticks, but Louis smiles up at him with his eyes crinkled at the corners and tenderly smooths Harry’s hair back from his face. 

“Bedside table.”

Harry lets his thigh graze up against the spread of Louis’ legs as he reaches forward and fishes for a johnny in the mess of Louis’ beside table – his fingers bump up against something smooth and plastic and he pulls it halfway out of the drawer in confusion before he realizes that it’s a _vibrator_ ; Louis keeps a _vibrator_ in his bedside drawer and it makes both of their faces feel hot – and tears it open, licking his lips as he rolls it down over the length of his dick and slicks lube over the latex.

Louis tangles his fingers with Harry’s and they kiss messily while together, they stroke Harry back to full, pulsing hardness, and Harry keeps his mouth rested lightly over Louis’, breathing each other’s breath, as he guides his cock into Louis.

“I – ” Harry stutters, barely able to breathe properly, let alone move, at the feeling of that tightness and warmth and Louis is looking a little shaky and breathless beneath him and he just shakes his head, at a loss for words.

Louis hands are cold when he slips them up onto Harry’s hips, sliding around to the flat of Harry’s pale arse and pulling him down against him, cock shifting deeper and causing them both to gasp. Louis’ own dick is impossibly hard and flushed and leaky between their bellies, and Louis slides his feet up the backs of Harry’s thighs to hook around Harry’s waist instead, holding him in close enough to fuck hard into the mattress but giving Louis the space to get a hand in to give his own dick a jerk.

Harry snaps his hips, trying his best to keep quiet, all too aware of the tiny red light glowing on the monitor on the windowsill and silently owing half a broken thought of thanks that it only travels one-way. Louis is shifting under him, the wet, slick head of his cock hitting Harry’s belly with every upstroke, and Harry slides his own hands under Louis’ hips to pull him up by the round of his arse, changing the angle, making Louis suddenly grate out a low, staccato sob and then he’s coming over their skin, splashing up over Harry’s chest and striping one of his smaller nipples.

Harry drops his head down onto the pillow beside the curve of Louis’ neck, dropping dry-mouthed kisses over his neck and the soft curve of his shoulder, leaving a dark bite in the skin of his shoulder when Harry comes, too, pushed deep into Louis’ slack, exhausted body.

Harry shudders, amazed by the aftershocks, and Louis wraps his arms around Harry’s back, hands drawing idly.

“Thank you,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ neck, tasting salt.

Louis doesn’t even pretend to laugh like it was nothing. “Yeah. I’ve – kiss me.”

Harry sighs sleepily and holds the base of the condom as he pulls out, ties it off, and drops it off the side of the bed.

“Hey!” Louis protests.

“It probably landed in laundry,” Harry mumbles dismissively, rolling onto his side and pulling Louis in close to kiss him. 

Their mouths move lazily, hands petting idly, until Louis pulls back and mutters, “Need a shower.”

Harry draws his fingertips across the sticky remnants of Louis’ come on his own stomach. “Yeah.”

Louis smiles at him, eyes shy. “Want to save water?”

Harry nods, but just rolls over again and bears Louis down into the pillows, tangling their fingers together and kissing him deeply. “In a minute.”

•••

Millie’s commercial is on its second circuit cut by the time they board their plane to Australia, Lux and Lou Teasdale in tow to help keep Millie company in her pen on the long flight, and Millie’s made almost as much money from her deal as the boys have on their album. If they could break the American market, of course, it’d be more, but – with a baby, Jones tells them, it’s just not likely yet.

They’d attended a movie premiere in New York for another boy band, an American outfit called Big Time Rush, to make some contacts, and they’d had photos taken on the red carpet. Harry had seen that they’d even run in one American tween magazine side-by-side on a page with a paparazzi shot of him with Millie grinning in her pram under the headline, “The Secret Life of the British Popstar.” It included a neon-colored poll trumpeting, “What would YOU do?” like being a popstar with a baby were a common quandary; apparently, Harry learned, the opinion of American teenage girls was split fairly equally between “I would have gone on TV anyway!” and “I would have stayed home and been responsible!”

“I notice that ‘gone on telly, and been responsible’ wasn’t an option,” Zayn says drily, closing the magazine with disgust and stuffing it into his seatback pocket. “What a load of rubbish.”

“I’m sorry, guys,” Harry apologizes anyway, scrubbing his hand through his hair. “It’d’ve been really cool to play in America.”

“Hey, maybe someday,” Liam says encouragingly. “Once we’re older and Millie’s older. Maybe our second album, or third?”

“Maybe,” Harry agrees, but his heart isn’t really in it.

Lou Teasdale turns around in her seat ahead and pushes her sunglasses up on top of her head. “Cheer up, Hazzy. Oz is better’n America anyway. We get to fly three times as far.”

Harry laughs and drops his head down onto Louis’ shoulder. Louis sleepily pats the side of Harry’s face, and doesn’t look up.

“Galloo!” Lux yells from the playpen they’ve set up along the front of their business class cabin. She rolls over onto Millie’s legs and flails. “Ah-ahh!”

“ _Luxie_ ,” Millie reprimands, “No! Bee atoogoba bite gogogo.”

Lux’s brow furrows and she pats Millie’s cheek, muttering sounds that are suspiciously catlike. “Naeow.” She bends down and gums wetly at Millie’s knee.

Millie rubs her temples like she’s seen Zayn do, and gives her father a pained look. “Daddy!”

Harry snorts and waves to Millie. “Be nice to Lux, little bean.”

Millie pushes Lux off her legs. “ _Mine legs_.” She waits for Lux to roll herself over and push herself up to sit again, then pats Luxie’s foot. “Luxie legs.” She pats her own foot. “Bee legs. Luxie no.”

Lux gives a joyful yell and tackles Millie’s legs again, hugging tight, and Millie gives Harry a withering, long-suffering look. 

“Luxie baby,” she says sourly.

An hour later, after Lux has fallen asleep and Millie has pawed her quiet way through a book about animals, they’re finally due to be served lunch. Harry nudges Louis awake, and he tromps down the aisle to collect Millie and bring her back to her seat between them. The flight attendant smiles indulgently at Millie with her little box of juice and bright eyes, and she ruffles Millie’s curls after leaving her tray of food on the seatback table.

Millie scowls and shakes out her curls, fixing them with a swipe like Harry does his. Harry chuckles and kisses the top of her head. 

“Mine head,” Millie informs him, patting her head. “No Bee? No.”

“That’s right,” Harry says. “It’s your head and only people who you say it’s okay can touch it.”

“Mine,” Millie repeats, and kicks her feet against the back of Paul’s seat ahead of her.

Paul heaves a sigh.

“No kicking, bean,” Harry says gently. “Let’s see what you’ve got for lunch, okay?”

He peels back the foil on her tray and Millie’s eyes light up.

“Mmm,” Millie hums. She holds her spoon like a weapon and digs it into the pasta shells and cheese. “Markerony, ged ere!”

Harry’s mouth pinches into a scowl as he shoots Louis a dirty look, but Louis just howls with laughter and drops a kiss onto Millie’s head.

“That’s my girl!”

Harry narrows his eyes. “I hate you, Louis.”

“No, you don’t,” Louis sings, and he reaches over Millie to rumple Harry’s hair.

Harry keeps scowling and fixes his own hair as his apple salad is delivered to his own seatback table, but Millie fixes Louis with a calculating look and orange cheese all over her chin.

“Daddy’s head,” she informs him. “Muppie, no.”

Louis laughs and leans down to kiss Millie’s nose. “May I?”

“Yis,” Millie says, patting his cheek. Louis kisses her nose, and Millie holds up a spoonful of macaroni. “Muppie food?”

“No, that’s okay sweetie,” Louis assures her. “I have my own lunch.”

“Tay,” Millie says, shrugging, and hums happily as she eats through her macaroni and cheese.

They all have a hard time sleeping on the plane, but when they arrive in Australia, it’s morning again and there’s a huge crowd waiting for them. It’s exhilarating to think that they’re this popular in a country they’ve never been – or even been on television – and Harry can’t help the wide grin splitting his face even as he carries a whimpering Millie through the crowd. She needs a nappy change as soon as they get to the hotel, but they have a day free before their first concert tomorrow.

Paul warns them not to sleep, because they need to adjust for the jet lag, so Louis asks Harry if he’s alright going off with Zayn to explore the city. Harry shrugs and says, sure, he’s got Lou and Lux and Mills for company, so Louis links his elbow into Zayn’s arm and they go stumbling off into Sydney.

“Daddy?” Millie asks. “Bee seepy.”

“I know, sweetie,” Harry says. He kisses her head. “But it’s daytime now.”

“Nap?” Millie asks, pointing at Lux. “Seepy!”

“No, I’m sorry,” Harry says. “How about… swimming? You love swimming.”

Millie frowns, but shrugs, and Harry takes her upstairs to the enormous suite they’re sharing with Louis to change her into her swimming suit, sunscreen, and her white sun hat.

“Daddy?” Millie murmurs, “Bee seepy!”

“I know, I know,” Harry repeats, and sets her down on the floor so he could disappear momentarily into the bathroom to change into his swimming shorts. When he comes back out, Millie is curled into a little pink ball on the floor, hiding her face in her elbows, sound asleep.

Harry sighs and sits down next to her, rubbing her back softly. “Wake up, little bean. We can’t sleep yet.”

Millie whimpers and doesn’t unfurl.

“Come on, sweetie, let’s go swimming!” Harry says, trying to sound excited when, in all honesty, he would rather just curl up and sleep, too. “It’s pretty outside. And we’re in Australia! Do you know what animals live in Australia?”

“Ko-awl,” Millie mumbles, peeking up at him with a rolling eye. “Kangu.”

“Good,” Harry praises, lifting her up to sit on his shoulders. “Maybe if we’re all good, we can see some later.”

“Tay,” Millie whispers, and she drapes herself heavily over Harry’s head and falls asleep.

Harry knocks on Lou Teasdale’s door, and she carries a sleeping Lux down with them to the pool. Harry leaves Millie and Lux curled together like puppies on one of the deck chairs beside Lou, and to wake himself up, dives into the bracing water and challenges himself to a hundred laps. 

Once he’s finished, Harry surfaces and shakes the water from his hair like a dog. He paddles over to the edge of the pool and hangs his arms over the edge, surveying his daughter with his brows drawn. 

Millie’s bright pink swimming suit hangs out of the back of her white sundress as she crawls on the rough pool deck, scouring insistently with a big blue sponge. She looks over to the pool and smiles, scooting over to dip her sponge in the water.

“Be careful,” Harry chastises her, steadying a hand on her back. “You know you should wear your armbands when you’re near the pool.”

“Solly,” Millie says, not sounding sorry at all, as she heads back up onto the deck proper. She sits heavily on her rump and squeezes the sponge into a puddle on the cement, then starts scrubbing again.

“What are you doing, baby beans?”

“Baff mine shadow,” Millie informs him, scrubbing away at the pool deck with her sponge. “Dirty mess.”

“Okay,” Harry shrugs. “Do you want to come in and swim with me?”

Millie looks at the water. “No.”

“Does that mean ‘yes’?”

Millie thinks it over, paused with the sponge in her hand. Harry flicks her with some water from the pool and she shrieks. 

“Tay!” she yells, and starts scooting over.

“No, no, hold on,” Harry says, and heaves himself up out of the pool. “We’ve got to get your armbands on and your dress off.”

Harry and Millie swim for a while, Millie grinning happily and singing silly alphabets and animal songs in the water as Harry keeps tight hold of her, and when her nose starts getting pink, Lou Teasdale cuddles Millie up in a warm dressing gown and paints her nose with blue zinc oxide beneath her white sun hat, and Harry swims with tiny Lux.

That night, Harry’s shoulders are covered in red sunburn, and Louis rubs them down with aloe vera and attempts to follow up with kisses, but the lotion makes his mouth taste terrible and he just sucks Harry off instead.

“Because that makes sense,” Harry laughs, nudging Louis in the gut with his toes.

“I like how _you_ taste,” Louis argues, and Harry has to pay him back in kind for that.

Their shows in Australia are amazing and loud, but back in the UK, their rumor mill just keeps spinning bullshit. There are rumors that Louis is moving out of their flat and in with Eleanor, and rumors that Louis and Eleanor have broken up. There are rumors that Millie’s mother is really one of the upcoming X Factor contestants, and rumors that Millie’s mother was on drugs and that’s why her walking is abnormal. There are rumors that Harry and Louis are dating, and Louis has to send Eleanor tweet after tweet to prove otherwise, even as he lies in bed with Harry in their hotel in New Zealand that night, Millie having a sleepover down the hall with Baby Lux in her crib.

 

Louis sighs and fiddles with his iPhone, carefully avoiding Harry’s eyes. “D’you ever feel like – so many fans and people tell us they love us every day that it’s like, hearing ‘I love you,’ it’s kind of stopped meaning anything?”

Harry looks up and over to Louis where he sits staring at his iPhone.

“No,” Harry decides. “Because Millie saying it always feels like it means something, and it reminds me. There are people I love and hearing them tell me I matter, basically, well, basically that means a lot. Why?”

Louis shrugs. He tosses his mobile to Harry and on the screen reads Louis’ twitter page, _@EleanorJCalder love YOU ! xxxx_ in gray and blue on the screen. Harry wraps his hand lightly around Louis’ ankle and his thumb caresses behind the knobby bone.

“I’m wondering whether maybe saying it works the same,” Louis says. “If you say you love people you don’t too much, if you forget _how_ to mean it.”

Harry keeps caressing Louis’ ankle and lets his other hand tap out secret messages across Louis’ knee. He doesn’t smile with his lips, but his eyes glow as he says, “Louis. I love you.”

The corners of Louis’ lips seem to turn both down and up at the same time. “I know you do, H. I’m just being depressive.”

“No, Louis,” Harry half-laughs, “I _love_ you. Like – I know we’ve said it basically a million times, but this is the first time I’m saying it like, like, _romantically_. I love you. In a soppy, piano-tinkly, Ryan Gosling and Rachel McAdams way. I love you.”

Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s hair, holding it back from his face. He swallows once and nods shortly.

Harry stands and scrambles up onto the bed beside Louis; he drapes his leg over Louis’ and snuggles right up close, all of their bones aligning. “I really do,” he murmurs, trailing his lips over the sensitive curve at the back of Louis’ neck. “You’re it for me.”

Louis exhales slowly. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early to say that? We’ve only been – really together – for like two months.”

“It’s not like I pulled you off the street,” Harry snorts. “I’ve been in love with you all along, at least… definitely since we got together. I don’t know about before, I guess, but I think I probably started to love you when… I’m not sure. But it was a long time ago. I know that.”

Louis is quiet for a long time, hands stroking absently over Harry’s arms as Harry nuzzles against the back of Louis’ neck and the soft wings of his shoulder blades. 

“Harry?” he asks finally. “I know you’re like, interested when we have sex and stuff, and you say you love me and everything and I _do_ believe you love me, but – I guess I just wonder – ”

“Whether I mind that you’re a guy?” Harry asks. Louis hesitates for the barest moment before nodding. He curls a little further in on himself. 

Harry shakes his head and slides his hand beneath the waistband of Louis’ soft pajama pants to caress the soft skin in the dip of Louis’ hipbone. His lips brush the shell of Louis’ ear as Harry whispers. “I love it, Louis. I love how strong you are – like you can hold me down when you want. 

“I love your stubble in the morning ‘cause sometimes it’s like, I feel like you give me beardburn or something sometimes and even in interviews that like pry too much, that’s a secret we keep to us. And I also love the hair on your chest, when you’re allowed to keep it. It’s just like, manly. I’m jealous.” Harry chuckles. 

He scrapes his teeth lightly over Louis’ earlobe. “And I love fucking you, love that I have to think about it and pay attention to you and like, it’s just different. It’s just better.”

Louis finally rolls over to face Harry. Their chests press together and Harry’s hand dips beneath Louis’ shirt to rest against the warmth of his skin. 

“And I know, like, that you don’t believe it because I said I’m not gay,” Harry murmurs, “And I don’t think I’m gay, really? But like… Holmes Chapel is _really_ small, okay, and the guys I knew there are like – I can honestly say that basically I never really thought much about my sexuality because the option there besides girls was just… terrible. Okay, everyone there’s got a double-chin, I don’t even understand it. 

“But then by the time I left HC and met – met _you_ , I had a kid, and I didn’t focus on anything about myself for a long time. I’m just starting to try to understand myself outside of just being a dad. But you’re not an experiment,” Harry adds quickly. “I don’t mean that.”

“So are you saying you _are_ gay after all?” Louis asks, looking up at Harry from beneath his eyelashes. His eyes are so blue that Harry needs to pull him closer, kiss him, run his thumb over the cut of Louis’ cheekbone.

“No,” Harry muses. “I think I just like people that I like, and it doesn’t really matter what their body’s like. You know, just, whoever I’m with, I think they’re sexy. I’m with you ‘cause I love you, and I think you’re ridiculously sexy.”

“Thanks,” Louis whispers. He leans up to kiss Harry’s full bottom lip sweetly. “You didn’t have to say all that.”

“I know,” Harry apologizes, “I started rambling pretty badly there.”

Louis shoves Harry’s arm. “You know what I meant, loser. But I liked it anyway.”

“Good.” Harry kisses him back and bears Louis down onto the mattress, caging him in with his arms. Louis hums and lazily wraps one leg around Harry’s thighs to pull him down heavier, closer, so that Harry can feel how much he affects him and so that Louis can gauge how much Harry was telling the truth, feel how much Harry wants him, too. Neither of them are fully hard but it doesn’t take long, kissing and cradled and rubbing. They aren’t frantic. Louis can’t even tell if Harry’s actually aiming to get off, or if he’s just enjoying that edge, taking advantage of the time they’ve got together without the baby.

All the same, Louis runs his hands down Harry’s back and pushes his pajamas and pants down and whispers _budge up a sec_ through strained teeth so that he can get his own cock out, too, and wrap both of them with his hand, pumping slowly to slide skin against skin.

Harry groans high in his throat like a whine as his head drops alongside Louis’ on the pillow, breath washing hot over Louis’ neck. “Fuck, Lou… I love you.”

Harry lays his own hand over Louis’ to twine their fingers together as they stroke between their bodies. It hits Louis belatedly and all at once that they haven’t actually taken off any of their clothing and he’s probably lying on his phone and he still hasn’t told Harry that he loves him back, but he doesn’t trust himself to do anything except cant his hips up into Harry’s grasp and whimper through his nose and come over his own stomach and Harry’s fingers.

Harry sucks in a cold breath through his teeth and rumble-groans low in Louis’ ear. “I love when you come,” he mutters filthily, raising goosebumps on Louis’ hot skin and keeping him shivering as he tries to come down, toes still curled. “I love the way you sound and the smell and the _taste_ , Lou, fuck – ”

All Louis can think to say is, “God, I love you, too,” so he does.

A few minutes later, after Harry’s licked his fingers clean, Louis pouts as Harry laughs at him, face buried into the pillow to keep from being too loud and waking Millie.

“You had to make the first time you say you love me while I’m _coming_ , Lou, _jesus_!”

“Well, I’m sorry if you’re oddly romantic while you’re coming!” Louis snaps. “Better than if I said it first while _I_ was coming, innit?”

Harry rolls over, still laughing, and pushes himself up so he can kiss Louis’ shoulder. “Yeah, it’s better.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	18. Chapter 18

“Mupmupmupmupmupmupmup!” Millie shrieks, racing across the apartment. Her feet tangle together once and she goes down face-first with a worrying _whump_ , but before Louis can untangle his _own_ shoes and reach out for her, she’s pushed herself back up and is flying the rest of the way across the floor. “Missed you!”

Louis crouches down to catch her and Millie collides with his chest forcefully enough to knock him back into the door. “Ooph! I missed you, too, little bean, so much! How are you? Did you do fun things with your dad while I was gone?”

“Yes,” Millie says, between kisses to Louis’ face. “Pointy.”

“Yeah,” Louis laughs, rubbing his chin. “I need a shave. What’d you do this week?”

“Zoo!” Millie chirps, snuggling down into Louis’ lap. “Fishes! Zayn! Danzing, Danielle. Yes, Granna Nanna. _No potty_. Yes, snakes!”

“Yes, you have to use the potty,” Louis corrects, playing with Millie’s curls. “What d’you mean, ‘yes snakes’?”

“Pesstore,” Millie informs him. “Big snakes! Shhhhh!”

Louis blinks at her and swallows. “Did your daddy buy you a _snake_?”

Millie pouts. “No. No potty? No snakes.”

“Right,” Louis says, making a mental note to barter with Harry about giving her _any other toilet training reward in the world_. “No potty, no snakes. Erm, where is your daddy?”

“Kitch’n,” Millie says, jumping up. She wraps her hand around two of Louis’ fingers and tries to pull him up, grunting. “Muppie gogogo gaow Daddy!”

Louis grunts and heaves himself to his feet; before he stands, he peppers the top of Millie’s head with smacking kisses. “Alright, let’s go find your daddy. And talk to him about this snake situation.”

“Yes!” Millie cheers, running to the kitchen and dragging a slow-walking Louis along behind her. “Snakes!”

“No, Mills,” Harry calls unseen from the kitchen, “No buying a snake until you use _only_ the potty.”

Millie yowls and drops Louis’ hand to curl up in a miserable, whining ball on the floor. Louis gives her a pat and chuckles under his breath as he comes into the kitchen and sidles up behind Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist as he stands at the stove, stirring up a pan of diced chicken and taco seasonings. 

“Good excuse never to have to buy a snake,” Louis murmurs into Harry’s back, face pressed to the warmth between Harry’s shoulder blades, just behind his heart. 

Harry smiles to himself and looks down at Louis’ strong arms cinced around him, thumbs stroking at Harry’s abs through his t-shirt. “Here’s to hoping she does forget.” He wipes his hands on the dishrag and caresses over Louis’ tanned forearm. “You’re quite brown.”

“Well,” Louis sighs, “If one does have to go to the south of France alone for a week.”

“You weren’t alone,” Harry argues, and Louis smirks at the sulky note in Harry’s voice. “You had Eleanor with you.”

“I suppose,” Louis says. “We didn’t exactly snuggle. And she laughed at my passport photo.”

“That’s because it’s hilarious,” Harry says. He turns in Louis’ embrace and wraps his own hands around Louis’ waist, fingertips just barely tucked beneath the waistband of Lou’s shorts. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Louis tilts his face up. “Kiss me, please.”

Harry’s cheek dimples, but he leans down to oblige, soft lips sucking gently at Louis’ bow-shaped top lip. Louis nips Harry’s lower lip with his sharp bottom teeth and murmurs, “I’ve missed kissing you.”

“I missed everything about you,” Harry whispers back, and buries his nose in the top of Louis’ head to smell his hair. “I hate that you had to go away. I hate – all of it.”

“I know,” Louis says simply, and doesn’t add _it won’t be forever_ or _me too_ or _I didn’t choose this_ , because he did. After Magaluf, all through dating David, in every day with Harry, Louis’ chosen to look like he loves Eleanor, and if Jones thinks that means a week’s vacation, then it does. If the line means laughing in public when Millie shrieks _Muppie!_ , then he will. Eleanor’s a hell of a good person to put up with doing the same when she could have been home, living her own life, and Louis isn’t going to complain about it.

Harry does, though. Loudly and often, in the comfort of their own home. Sometimes on stage – “ _I want to kiss you right now, you look so good_ ” – or whispered in his ear when they’re weaving through crowds with Millie balanced on a set of shoulders. In bed, he’ll trace over the shape of Louis’ body with both hands and warm breath and look up with dark eyes to say, “I want everyone in the world to know I’m the one who has you.”

Louis usually just sighs and closes his eyes and mutters back, “Don’t we share enough? I want us to just be ours.”

Harry will stop for a day or two, but it always comes up again – when there’s another slew of tweets saying #MillieNeedsAMum, or when Louis goes out for Starbucks with El, or when newspapers caption photos of Caroline that have nothing whatsoever to do with Harry as ‘signs Cazza is on the cougar hunt for Hazza.’ Louis finds his ways to distract Harry.

Harry sighs. “Did you have fun?”

“It was alright,” Louis says. “Did you know there are laws in France about pap photos? You have to sign a thing.”

“Then why couldn’t _we_ go?” Harry asks tetchily. He turns back to the stove and stirs his burning chicken before turning off the flame. “We could’ve left Millie at my mum’s.”

“Maybe next time,” Louis deflects. He kisses the slope of Harry’s shoulders, then gives Harry’s arse a little spank as he crosses to set the table. “Mills!” he calls. “Come eat dinner.”

Millie slithers into the room on her belly, pulling herself along on her arms like she did just months ago as a baby – but she’s _hissing_ , which makes it significantly less adorable.

“Shhhnake,” she explains, flopping over Louis’ feet to keep him from walking. “Bee-snake!”

“Is that so?” Louis asks, and hauls Millie up by the armpits. He settles her in her high chair and buckles the straps. “Well, I heard that you’re not allowed a snake until you only use the potty.”

“No mine snake,” Millie says, shaking her head. “Bee _is_ snake.”

Louis starts to laugh and shakes his head. “Oh, dear. Harold, your baby’s turned into a snake.”

“Well, I guess she can’t have any tacos, then,” Harry says conspiratorially, setting the dishes on the table. “More for us, Lou.”

“Mmm,” Louis hums. He fixes himself a taco and raises one eyebrow at Millie. Her round eyes are following his food like she hasn’t been fed in months, even though there are pudding splotches on her dress. “More chicken for Mups and Daddies and little girls if there’s only snakes around.”

“Bee girl!” Millie exclaims, patting her chair’s tray. “Chick’n! Mine!”

“It’s a miracle!” Louis exclaims right back, eyes wide and sparkling. He dishes her a little plate of unseasoned chicken pieces and chopped steamed tomatoes. “H, the snake’s given us back your Millie!”

Harry drops a kiss on Millie’s head as he takes his own seat, offering Louis a bottle of beer. “Thank goodness. The family’s back together.”

Millie beams at them, sings a quick alphabet and a _Daddy! Muppie! Bee!_ , then sticks her tongue out and laps up pieces of chicken like a frog, hissing proudly.

•••

The morning after Louis and Eleanor arrive home from Nice – when Harry and Louis are both groggy-eyed and a little limpy – they head to a golf course for the second album’s cover photoshoot. Millie tags along with them in a smart green golfing cap because Lux will be there, and now that Lux is walking, too, and even talking a bit – just a little bit – Millie has decided that it is her job to teach Lux everything there is to know about the world.

Harry keeps a half-absent eye on their adventure behind the camera even as the boys take direction in how to sit casually and have their makeup and singular locks of their hair adjusted every few minutes as the wind blows.

“Tree,” Millie explains, patting the trunk of a slender tree. 

Lux stomps over and hugs the trunk. “Fo!”

“No, Luxie. Tree!”

“Seef?”

Millie sighs and pats Lux’s head. “Good baby.”

Lux’s nose crinkles as she laughs uproariously and tackles Millie, sending them both down in the grass at the foot of the tree. Harry jumps up, ruining a shot and making Niall throw his hat on the ground with a _that’s it; I’m goin’ home!_ , but Millie is laughing, too, sprawled out on the grass with her hat askew.

After a moment, Millie’s eyes light up and she lifts something from the ground. “Luxie!” she crows. “Dizzard!”

“That’s a grasshopper, Acchi,” Zayn calls, glancing over while Lou Teasdale fixes his quiff. She taps his cheek and he turns his head back, blowing her an apologetic kiss for her trouble.

The grasshopper jumps suddenly from Millie’s palms to Lux’s shoulder, and both babies start to wail. There are a few minutes of chaos as Harry, Louis, and Lou all rush around trying to calm them; once Lux has a dummy and Millie’s been given a cookie from the craft services table, Harry kisses Millie’s hair. 

“Little bean, why don’t you show Lux the pictures in your book instead of playing on the green?”

“Done,” Millie shrugs. “Luxie is baby.”

“Right,” Harry sighs. “Well… maybe Mup will let you borrow his iPad to watch animal videos.”

“Muppie?” Millie chirps, craning her neck to look up at him with a red nose and wet eyes.

Louis sighs. “Yeah, sure. Hold on a mo’.” He calls up the app they’d downloaded for Millie to use to watch videos of animals – and practice her letters at the same time – and hands it to her. She gives him a watery smile and immediately clicks on the image for ‘Lizards, Reptiles, and Amphibians.’

“Thank you,” she whispers, and Louis bends down to kiss her nose. 

“You’re welcome, little bean. Share with Luxie!” He gives Harry a significant look and Harry shrugs one shoulder before nodding. “If you’re good and quiet, then we can go to the pet store on the way home.”

“Snake?” Millie asks hopefully.

“No, no snakes,” Louis and Harry say sternly in one voice. 

Millie sighs and mopes, her chin on her hands. “No potty, no snakes.”

“Right,” Harry agrees. He gives her belly a tickle. “Are you okay if we go back to work now?”

Millie nods, so Harry sets her down on the grass by the 7th hole and holds his hand out to help Louis scramble to his feet beside him. Fortunately, the group were able to take the individual sleeve photos of Niall while Harry and Louis were off soothing Millie, but the fact of the matter is – and it’s one that Liam is very carefully and overtly skirting around – now that Millie is fully mobile, it’s harder to bring her along on long jobs. She likes to explore and learn and meet people and chatter about things that she likes, and it’s hard to rein her in. It would be unfair, Harry thinks; she’s mostly good and she doesn’t really get into _trouble_ and she is a kid, so she should be allowed to play. Being startled by a grasshopper isn’t the worst that could happen by a longshot.

The next week goes more smoothly, as they’re all cooped up just as much as Millie: recording is exciting in that they get to hear what they sound like on new professional recordings, which is still a kick after two years, but unless they’re individually in the booth recording their part, it’s tedious and boring. Niall tries to teach Millie to pass a football, but her turned-in feet make it hard for her not to kick with her toes. She overbalances and topples over more than once, and eventually just sprawls out on her belly on top of the ball, holding it to the floor, and looks to Niall with a firm and polite, “No foo’ball.” 

Zayn works with her on writing letters and drawing shapes, and they all quickly learn to ask, “Millie, tell me about your pretty drawing!” instead of, “What’s… that?”

Millie runs up to Harry as he’s leaving the booth on the fourth day. “Daddy! See?”

She growls and makes a muscle with her spaghetti arm, and drawn on her skin in black magic marker is a psychedelic frog unmistakably drawn by Zayn.

“Oh, I see,” Harry says slowly, bending to pick her up. She beams at him as he balances her on his hip. “Did you get a tattoo like Zayn?”

“Yes!” Millie chirrups. “Frog. Bibbit!”

“That’s right,” Harry says. “Do you know when your tattoo will wash off?”

“No,” Millie says, and her eyes are big. “Tattoos now.”

“That’s right,” Harry agrees. “Tattoos are permanent. That’s why they’re for grown-ups.”

Millie pulls a marker from behind her back. “Bee? Daddy, tattoo?”

Harry swallows and considers tomorrow’s double-bill of Leeds’ Party in the Park and the Key 103 show in Manchester. But Millie’s face is so earnest and happy and he’s had to ignore her so much lately while they’ve been recording and shooting promotional photos that he can’t really deny her. 

“Sure, little bean,” Harry says, resigned. “Let’s sit down and you can give me a tattoo.”

He sits on the floor right at her height and rolls up his sleeve. Millie catches her tongue between her teeth in concentration and draws the cold marker over his skin. She grins happily at him after just a few lines.

“H,” she says, and points. “Affabet, H.”

Harry grins at her and folds her into a hug. “That’s right, little bean. That’s an H. Can you draw any other letters?”

Millie ponders this for a minute, then nods. Harry holds his arm out again. Millie’s breath puffs out warm as she draws, concentration furrowing her brow.

“I,” she says. “H, I. Bee no L-M-N-M-P-U-S-tee-O-G.”

Harry’s eyes feel embarrassingly wet as he cuddles Millie close and kisses her face until she’s squirming to get away. “That’s right, my genius little bean. H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O-P.” He kisses her forehead again and Millie scowls and wipes at her face. “I love my tattoo, sweetie. Thank you.”

That night, when they’re finally finished for the day and Louis is carrying a dozing Millie out to the cabs, Harry pulls Zayn aside and asks a favor. After he gets home, Millie is sound asleep in her crib, Louis is wearing his glasses and squinting at the BBC over the rim of his tea, and Harry has a tattoo: Millie’s wiggly little-girl handwriting right on the inside of his arm, bearing – 

“‘Hi’?” Louis asks, after Harry’s peeled back the bandage to show him giddily. “You got ‘hi’ tattooed on your body forever?”

“It’s my baby’s first word,” Harry defends. “Well, her first written word. And she doesn’t know it’s a word. But… I liked it. I think it’s cute.”

Louis gathers Harry close and slides his hands around Harry’s waist beneath the soft cotton of his t-shirt. “ _You’re_ cute.”

Harry kisses Louis’ lips chastely. “Your glasses are cute.”

“My everything is cute,” Louis snorts, smirking, then tackles Harry down to the bed to snog him properly, pressed together like puzzle pieces.

The next morning they’re all woken early and eat a rushed breakfast. Millie is tetchy and screams until Harry snaps and agrees to make her a scrambled egg even though there isn’t time; Louis gets his contact in wrong and his eye is all red for most of the morning. Traffic is slow on the way to Leeds and Millie keeps kicking at the back of Liam’s seat, which makes Liam lash out at Niall because he’s closest. 

And then they all have to paste on smiles for their performance at the Party in the Park. Millie is cooped up during the performance and the July heat makes her cranky and sticky. She doesn’t _want_ to get back in the van and drive to Manchester. She doesn’t _want_ to stay backstage during the Key 103 show. She doesn’t _want_ to be stuck in the playpen again. 

“Please, bean,” Harry wheedles desperately, combing through her damp hair with his fingers. Millie yowls and pushes his hand away, pouting dangerously. “It’s just one more show today and we can go home.”

“No!” Millie yowls. “Home now!”

“I’m so sorry, sweetie; we can’t go home yet. But we have a whole week off after this okay? Only home for a _whole week_. And we can go swimming, and we can see Grandma Anne and Grandma Jay and Auntie Gemma and Daisy and Phoebe and Lottie and Fizz – ”

“No!” Millie shrieks. “Bee go home!”

Harry scrubs the heels of both hands over his face in exhaustion. The band’s stylist, Caroline Watson, touches his shoulder. 

“Harry, if you want, I can watch her so she can stretch her legs a bit. I know two shows in a day is a bit much for us all, I can’t imagine how she feels.”

“Could you?” Harry asks reverently, then squeezes Caroline in a hug. “Thank you. I’ll – she’s normally quite cheerful.”

“I know, Harry,” Caroline assures him, patting his cheek. “But maybe it’s time to look into nannies.”

Harry’s brow furrows. “I don’t want to send her to a nanny or a nursery. I don’t – she’s happy with me.”

Millie gives another shriek and rolls onto her belly to kick her legs despondently.

“Well, mostly she is.”

Caroline looks at him sadly. “Alright, Hazza. Go on, you’re needed for the lineup.”

Harry gives Millie’s head another kiss and narrowly avoids being kicked in the balls by her flailing feet. 

Once Harry’s run up the stairs to the staging area, he tries to shake off the Millie-induced stress of the day. He rolls his shoulders and shakes out his hair and he tries taking a shot from Niall’s flask of whiskey, but nothing seems to work.

“Hey,” Louis whispers, and kisses Harry behind the ear. “You look all tense.”

“I am all tense,” Harry hisses tersely. “Millie’s being a shit.”

Louis blinks, looking surprised. “It must be bad if you’re not fawning over her.”

“I don’t always fawn,” Harry snaps. “I’m a good dad. I can tell when she’s being a shit versus when she isn’t.”

“I know!” Louis says, holding up his hands in placation. He checks over his shoulder and leans up on his tip-toes to whisper in Harry’s ear. “You want me to suck you off in the toilets before we have to go on?”

Harry’s eyebrow twitches. “How long do we have?”

“Fifteen?”

Harry swallows. “Yeah, alright. Come find me in two.”

The show goes well enough after that, and Harry tries to lose himself in the size of the crowd and the enthusiasm of the cheering. They may never crack America, but playing in Manchester is about everything he’d ever let himself get as far as dreaming of back in Holmes Chapel anyway. He lets his hand graze over Louis’ every time they pass onstage, and whenever he’s daydreaming between solos, he lets himself imagine all of the ways he’ll pay Louis back in kind when they get home.

But much to Harry’s surprise, Paul pulls him aside the moment he’s offstage.

“What’s up?” Harry asks, still grinning from the rush of closing a _good_ show. “I’ve gotta change, Paulie – ”

“Harry.” Paul shakes his head. “There – was an accident earlier.”

A lead weight drops in Harry’s stomach. He actually doubles over and Paul holds him up. 

“Is she alright?” Harry croaks without air, eyes wide, “What’s happ – where is she?”

“She’s at the A&E,” Paul says steadily, “We’ve got a car waiting for you.”

Louis ducks over and wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, presses his sweaty, shirtless front to Harry’s back, and rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder. “What’s up?”

“There was an accident, I guess,” Harry whispers, “Millie’s at hospital.”

Harry can feel Louis’ heart start racing. “What’s happened?”

“She fell. Caro went with her; she texted me just a bit ago to say Millie’s okay,” Paul explains, still stolid and calm. “We think there was a loose floorboard in the hall and her shoe stuck in it. She just went down hard; hit her head on the corner. Just a bad cut and she’ll have a hell of a shiner. They don’t think she’s been concussed.”

Louis feels Harry’s stomach tighten up under his fingers.

“Move!” Louis says urgently to Paul, who ducks just in time for Harry to retch.

“Ugh,” Harry grunts, “Sorry. I need to go, I have to go to her; Louis, come on – ”

“No, wait,” Paul says, catching their arms. “Louis has to stay here and greet with the others.”

“But – ”

“No, Harry, people will be angry enough that you’re gone,” Paul says. “Louis’ got to stay.”

Harry fishmouths a moment before nodding spastically. “Yeah, fine, whatever, come after, Lou, please just – let me go.”

Harry runs away, his shoes skidding as he turns the corner, and Louis rounds furiously on Paul.

“People will be angry if I don’t stay?” Louis spits. “What people?”

Paul shakes his head. “Lou, it’s just my job.”

“ _What’s_ just your job, Paul? Keeping a toddler from – keeping me from Millie? Or from Harry?”

“That’s what you wanted, Louis,” Paul reminds him gently. “He’s just your roommate. She’s just his daughter. Not yours. That’s what you wanted people to see. If you go, that story crumbles.”

“ _She’s in the hospital_. That’s extraordinary circumstances!”

“And that’s why she needs her _dad_ ,” Paul says. “Not his roommate. I’m sorry. Jones and them are angry enough that she’s got hurt and made a scene with the ambulances and all. You can go to them later. I’ll send for a cab to take you straight there.”

Louis glares up at Paul, his heart hammering hot, but Paul’s sad, sympathetic smile makes him waver. “She’ll be alright?”

“That’s what Caro texted me.” Paul frowns. His voice softens as he kneads Louis’ shoulder with one hand. “They mightn’t let you in to see her anyway, Lou. Strictly speaking.”

_You’re not family. Strictly speaking._

Louis’ anger breaks and his hands come up to cover his face, ashamed, as he starts to cry. That’s never been his reaction; crying is for Harry, crying is for Niall. Louis doesn’t cry – he cheers people up. Or he feels furiously angry. 

But right now, he feels useless, and that’s why he lets Paul hug him gruffly, patting his back, while he cries out his eyes.

Uptown, Harry’s cab arrives at the hospital amid a flurry of photographers shouting insults and accusations at Harry; Caroline Watson is waiting for him just outside the door and she holds up her jacket around her arm to shield his face as she shepherds him into the hospital because he looks such a mess, white-faced and shaky-handed and righteously angry and swearing.

“ _She’s a hurt baby and they’re fucking saying shit about her_ ,” Harry hisses. “What the _fuck_ kind of bastards are they?”

“It’s alright, Harry, she’s okay,” Caroline tries to soothe him, “Come on, she’s just upstairs. They’ve put her in a room. That’s good! She’s just waiting for you.”

“ _Did you leave her all alone?_ ”

“No!” Caroline says, and rubs his back. “Harry, she’s got nurses with her and she knows you’ll be right there. She’s _really_ alright; I promise.”

Outside Millie’s door, Caroline pulls out her iPhone. “I’ve got to update Paul, sweetheart; you go on in.”

Harry rubs his hands over his face and takes two deep breaths, trying to slow his heartbeat and calm his stomach, before he pushes open the door.

Millie sobs and reaches her arms out. Harry glances to the nurse for permission and then gathers her up, holding her close. 

“Daddy,” Millie whimpers, squeezing him tight.

“Oh, my baby Milliebeans,” Harry murmurs, rocking her gently. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I know you were scared.”

“Daddy,” Millie cries, “Mine hair!”

Harry’s eyebrows knit and he looks up at the nurse again.

“They had to shave a bit of her hair to put in her stitches,” she explains. “Doll’s been in a right state over it.”

“Ohh,” Harry hums. He ducks his head to kiss Millie’s cheek, since her head is still bloody and sore. “Sweetie, it’s okay. You’re still my smart and wonderful and pretty girl.”

“Mine hair!” Millie cries again. “Mine shoe!”

“I know,” Harry whispers, “I know it got stuck in the floor and it tore. But we can get new shoes. And your hair will grow back. But you know what?” He pulls back just enough that he can look into her face. Her nose is running everywhere and there are bloodstains down the side of her neck and onto her collar; her eyes are limned in red and full of tears and Paul was right, there’s a magnificent purple-and-green bruise over her forehead and ringing one eye. Harry feels his own eyes well up and he very carefully, gently, lightly kisses the opposite side of Millie’s forehead. “We can’t get a new _you_. So I’m very glad you’re alright.”

Millie’s lip pokes out. “Bee hurt now.”

“I know, sweetie,” Harry assures her. “I’m so sorry.”

“Bee hurt mine head,” Millie explains, pointing to her head. Harry sees the bandaging for the first time where her hair was shaven away just over her temple, replaced by a white gauze square and Harry feels his stomach roiling again, so he swallows hard. 

“I’m sorry, baby beans,” he murmurs. He gently cups the unbruised side of Millie’s face in his palm and wipes her tears away with his thumb. 

Millie’s lip quivers. “Bee bad.”

“Sweetie, you’re _not_ bad,” Harry assures her fiercely, “You aren’t bad for getting hurt. You couldn’t help it.”

“Bee run’d,” Millie whispers. She looks down at her lap and pouts so far her lip casts its own shadow. “Caro – no. Bee gogo, bite ouch.”

“That’s okay,” Harry whispers. He sidles up onto the hospital bed and cuddles protectively around Millie, untangling the few locks of her curls that aren’t wet or bloody. “I mean, you should listen to Caro, but – you’re not bad.”

Millie shakes her head. Fat tears spill down her cheeks again. “Bee bad girl.”

“You’re not bad,” Harry promises. He rubs her back. “You’re a very good girl. You just had an accident. Everyone has accidents sometimes.” Millie looks over at him from beneath her wet lashes. “Once, when I was little, I thought it’d be fun to try to catch a goose in the park, and it bit my fingers and ears and I had to get stitches and a shot. 

“And one time when I was a bit older, my friend taped my hand to the desk at school with a load of masking tape and it tore off a bunch of the top of my skin. And this other time, I was trying to lose my front teeth to get two quid to buy some Pokémon cards, and I ran face-first into the doorknob and lost more teeth than I wanted.” 

Millie looks perturbed. 

Harry shrugs. “Everyone has accidents.”

Millie wriggles closer to him and tucks her hand into the neck of his t-shirt, and suddenly Harry feels like she’s two months old again and lying in his arms in Holmes Chapel when he’s unsure of what the future is going to be, the outcome of his career still looming on the horizon and this tiny little fragile thing in his arms solely down to him and he’s not sure he won’t fail her. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there, little bean,” Harry whispers, and his eyes well up with tears again. “I’m so sorry.”

Millie shrugs, pouting. She pats his face with her other hand and scoots up to kiss his chin. “Daddy? Muppie?”

Harry swallows and rubs her back gently. “He’ll be here for you soon.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes, little bean?”

“Home now? Muppie, Bee, Daddy? Eggstirbakin… guss.”

Harry swallows and nods, Millie’s little fingers spidering up the ticklish column of his neck as she feels out his reply. “Sure, little bean. We’ll go home and it will just be you and me and Mup.”

“Eggstirbakin?” Millie presses. “Guss?”

Harry laughs wetly and wipes his eyes on the back of his hand. “Sure, bean. We can have eggs and bacon for tea. And cake with guts.”

Millie hums and slurps three fingers into her mouth to chew on them for comfort. Harry keeps rubbing circles on her back, sniffling, and whispering _I’m sorry I wasn’t there, bean._ It takes nearly an hour for Louis to arrive, and he rushes into the room with his hackles up because Caroline’d had to vouch for him since he wasn’t a family member – but Millie cried out “Muppie! Bee hurt mine head!” as soon as she saw him, and Harry let out a dry sob and reached his arm out for Louis’ hand, and Louis squeezes right onto the bed beside them to examine Millie’s bruises and brush away Harry’s tears from beneath his eye.

“Oh, little bean, I’m sure glad you’re alright,” Louis murmurs, and kisses the back of her hand. She giggles and pats his nose. “D’you wanna go home?”

“Yes,” Millie sighs, and it shakes like she might cry in relief. “Home. Bee now. Daddy, Muppie, Bee… eggstirbakin… guss. Yes, now.”

Harry gingerly kisses the back of her head and looks up at the nurse watching over Millie’s bedside. “Can we take her home?”

She nods. “You’ll have to fill out her paperwork, Mr. Styles. If you follow me to the front desk?”

Harry slides Millie over onto Louis’ lap and scoots off the bed without jiggling the mattress (and therefore Millie’s aching, bruised head). Louis cuddles her close and murmurs, “Can I kiss your nose?”

Millie pokes at her nose, then frowns and shakes her head. “No. Ouch.”

“Hmm.” Louis hums, frowning. “How about… your… elbow?”

Millie pokes her elbow and smiles. “Yes.”

Louis lifts her arm and kisses her elbow. “How about your knee?”

Millie smiles. “Yes!”

Louis kisses her knee and gives her a tiny tickle. “How about you kiss _my_ nose?”

Millie grins at him and kisses Louis’ nose, and when she smiles like that he can almost pretend for a moment that she doesn’t have two magnificent black eyes and blood all over her dress. 

“Thank you,” Louis says graciously. “Do you want to go find your daddy now?”

“Yes,” Millie confirms. “Uppy?”

“Of course, little bean,” Louis whispers, picking her up to carry her on his hip. “No matter how big you get, I’ll always be happy to carry you.”

•••

>   
> **BABY STYLES SAT ON A WALL, BABY STYLES HAD A GREAT FALL**  
>  _AND ALL OF ONE DIRECTION’S MEN HELPED TO PUT HER TOGETHER AGAIN_  
>  Oh no! Our favorite little one (sorry, Suri Cruise and Harper Seven!) Millie Styles took quite a tumble at her dad’s gig last night at Manchester Key 103. She was rushed off to the A &E in an ambulance with all sirens blasting, and Hario missed the signing after the show to go tend to her. Luigi wasn’t in talking spirits either, and fans tweeted that he looked “worried sick”!
> 
> After seeing these pics of Miss Millie leaving the A&E later with Larry Stylinson, we can see why. Her little face won’t be making commercials any time soon with those shiners! Here’s to hoping you get well right quick, Millie! Next time, don’t fangirl so hard at the show!

•••

>   
> **OP ED: That’s what makes him an irresponsible parent**  
>  _After horrific photos of toddler Millie Styles detail Harry Styles’ ineptitude, it is the public’s job to take a stand_  
>  On the X Factor two years ago, Harry Styles, now 18, made quite a lasting positive impression on audiences with his “carefree” attitude. But now that his love child, Millie Styles, aged 21 months, has been used for cash, jetted around the world on long flights, demonstrated developmental delays, been exposed to known drug-users in the entertainment industry, and now grievously injured backstage at a One Direction concert, this concerned reader has to ask: is a “carefree” attitude acceptable in a high-profile parent?
> 
> If Harry Styles were not a celebrity and his child sustained these types of injuries, there would, and should, be an inquest by the London LSCB. As a teenage single parent raising her in an environment with another young man (One Direction member Louis Tomlinson, 20, often pictured falling out of nightclubs with model-beaux Eleanor Calder, 20), Mr. Styles should already be subject to routine review and culpable for the injuries and injustices sustained by Miss Styles. 
> 
> One can only hope that on signing her lucrative commercial deal with Innocent Juice, a deal with which she could clearly not give informed assent, Miss Styles was assigned a case lawyer more interested in her personal well-being than her father has demonstrated in recent weeks.
> 
> While Harper Seven Beckham may suffer the fatigue of being the world’s most well-traveled infant and Suri Cruise’s parents subjected her to a dangerous ‘cult-like’ environment, Millie Styles is the only celebrity infant of our time to show such obvious signs of neglect and abuse. With teenage girls worshipping and emulating the One Direction members’ every move, it is our duty as adults to investigate the living situation of this helpless child and place her in a more appropriate home: one preferably with two adult parents in stable professions.
> 
> — Elisabeth R., 36, Cheltenham

•••

Millie is sullen for the next week as the stitches in her head heal and slowly, grotesquely dissolve. Danielle tries to come over and dance with her as usual, but the movement hurts Millie’s head and she storms off, crying, to slam her door and hide in her closet. Niall wants to bring her to McDonalds because he thinks a little toy and some chips will solve all that ails her, but Millie flat-out refuses to leave the house and screams until her face turns purple and Niall hastily retreats. Only Zayn seems to get through to her, since they just curl up and read about animals on Louis’ iPad or practice writing letters and drawing numbers; when Liam comes by and invites Millie to come downstairs and see Boris and Archimedes, she throws her stuffed alligator at Liam and runs off to hide under the kitchen table.

They’ve had to postpone their recording session because Millie won’t leave and Harry refuses to leave her with Lou Teasdale or Gemma or anyone else. He won’t leave her side. And Louis can’t leave Harry while he’s this depressed; it doesn’t seem prudent.

Harry kneels down beside Millie where she sits listlessly watching Pingu. She’d stolen her little basket of Munchy Fingers for snacking off of the credenza and has it sprawled over her legs, nibbling at biscuits.

“Sweetie?” Harry asks gently, rubbing her back, “Baby Lux is worried about her best friend. Do you want to go play at her house?”

“No.”

“Can she come play here?”

Millie scowls darkly and looks over at Harry. He looks down, away from her little bald patch covered with red, wrinkled scarring and her golden-purple black eyes. “No!”

“How about Perrie? Zayn said she was missing you. Can she come see you today?”

“No!” Millie yowls, and throws the little basket of Munchy Fingers to the floor. She stomps off to her room and slams the door. A moment later, they hear a second door slam as she burrows into her closet to hide.

Harry sighs heavily and stoops down to his knees to start picking stray biscuits off the floor, but Louis crouches down, too, and stops him with a fleeting touch on his wrist. 

“I’ve got this time,” Louis assures Harry softly. He leans in and kisses Harry’s pursed, tense lips gently. “Go relax for a bit. Lie down, take a kip, read a book. Make some tea. Wank in the shower. Whatever.”

Harry doesn’t even smile. He just nods, silent, and slowly heaves himself to his feet. Louis can hear the cracks running through Harry’s spine as he straightens up and wonders vaguely whether he should schedule Harry a massage, since normally his back’s okay after morning.

“Harry,” Louis beseeches, and Harry turns over his shoulder. “She’ll get over it. She’s not angry with you.”

Harry hesitates and his green eyes are dull, but he nods twice before he disappears into the kitchen. He rests his forehead against the refrigerator door and sighs, banging his own head twice before opening it and digging around for the frozen container of steamed tomatoes. His mum had always taken refuge in cooking, and so had Steve from Mandeville’s, so he’d been doing an awful lot of cooking and baking lately to see if there was something to it. 

In the living room, Louis paces for a minute, the soiled Munchy Fingers all thrown in the bin and the basket replaced on its customary shelf with a few fresh biscuits. He casts a glance towards Harry bustling in the kitchen, preparing to make tomato sauce from the looks of it, and one to Millie’s closed door.

Louis goes to sit by Millie’s door and rests against it, eyes closed, to wait for her to open it. Just so she’ll know that she isn’t alone.

Harry rings up his mum and holds his mobile between his chin and shoulder. “What’s the recipe for tomato sauce? I want to make Millie spaghetti ‘cause it’s her favorite.”

“Just tomatoes, 70 grams butter, and an onion, halved,” Anne says. “Simmer together, discard the onion, and cook up your pasta right in the sauce. How is she today?”

“Miserable,” Harry says shortly. “And angry.”

Anne sighs. “And how are you?”

Harry laughs tinnily. “Miserable and angry. Lou’s the only one who isn’t, and… he’s just miserable.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Anne says sympathetically. Harry just grunts. “I ran into Clare today at Mandeville’s,” Anne says carefully. In the background, Harry can hear the soft thudding of cabinets and the _whoosh_ of her own burners glowing on, and it’s so homey and comforting and _simple_ that it makes him sigh and wish he were there.

“Really?” he asks. He hacks the onion in twain with perhaps too much force. “Convenient.”

“I see her all the time, actually,” Anne says. “It’s a small town.”

“Right,” Harry says. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Why haven’t you mentioned her before now, then?”

“Just chit-chat, Harry,” Anne assures him. “‘Hello, hi, you’re looking well, you too.’ That’s all.”

“But today?”

“She asked after you,” Anne admits. “She didn’t mention Millie or the accident at all. Just you. Wanted to know if you were alright.”

Harry leans his hip against the counter. On his own stove, the water starts boiling and he cracks in a handful of spaghetti, watching the white foam roil. “What did you say?”

“I said that for the most part, you’re very happy, that you’re quite busy, and that you’ve become an absolutely wonderful man.” 

Harry looks down into the boiling pasta and nods even though his mother can’t see it. “Thanks,” he whispers.

“It’s only the truth,” Anne says. “Darling, would you like to come up for the weekend? Bring Millie and Louis if he wants. We can even invite Jay and the girls. We’ll just have a quiet, family holiday?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry says. “One second.” He covers the mouthpiece of his phone and calls, “Mills! Lou! Tea’s on!” He holds the phone to his ear again and says, “Yeah, sure, I’ve got to do a phone-in for Grimmy on Sunday night ‘cause he’s filling in for Huw, but that’d be nice if Millie’s feeling up to it. She doesn’t really want people to look at her just now.”

“Poor little duck,” Anne tuts. “Well, let me know.”

“I will,” Harry promises. “And I love you. I’ve gotta go feed the monsters.”

“Hey!” chorus Louis and Millie together. Louis pinches Harry’s side on his way to the refrigerator, and Millie sticks out her tongue.

•••

On Friday, they manage to coax Millie out of the house and make the long drive up to Holmes Chapel, plying her with plum biscuits all the way and letting her dictate their radio by kicking Louis’ seat. When they arrive, Jay’s big van and Eleanor’s little coupe are already parked in the drive, and Anne is waiting for them in the doorway.

Millie flies up the drive to hug Anne’s leg.

“Hello, my pretty little miss,” Anne coos. “How’s your little noggin feeling now?”

“No pretty,” Millie grouses as her hands go up to cover the bald stripe self-consciously. “Now bad.”

“It’s not bad,” Anne says firmly. “You can still think, right? Quick, what’s your name?”

“Millie Bee,” Millie grumps – but Harry can see a slight twitch in her lips.

“Good!” Anne says, lifting Millie onto her hip. “Right in one. And what’s your favorite animal?”

“Dizards!” Millie enthuses, unabashed now. She looks up at Anne with wide eyes, and Harry notices for the first time that the swelling around her right eye is finally, thankfully, going down and turning to green-gold. “Monsters!”

“Lizards?” Anne asks, and boops Millie’s nose. “Not cats?”

“No,” Millie says. She cranes her head, “Yes. Dussy?”

“I think she’s out in the garden with Gemma and Eleanor and the girls,” Anne says. “Do you want to go play with them or stay here and cook dinner with Grandma Jay and me?”

Millie’s hand absently lifts to run over the blank patch of scalp and jagged, puckered stitching. She looks downcast. “Now,” she murmurs.

Harry and his mother exchange a look. 

“Why, sweetheart?” Harry asks Millie gently, reaching up to rub her back. “It’s a beautiful day. And you love Auntie Gemma and the girls.”

Millie slouches until her face is half-buried in her shoulders and Anne’s collar. “No.”

“Do you know,” Anne starts thoughtfully, “Once, when your daddy was about your age, he got a big gob of chewing gum stuck in your Auntie Gemma’s hair _right_ up here by her ear. And we cut it all out! And she had short hair like your Mup for months.”

Millie looks up with suspicion in her eyes. “Pretty?”

“Oh, no,” Anne laughs. “No, and she was so angry with your dad.”

“It’s true,” Harry says. “She didn’t speak to me for ages. And she pinched me a lot. But it was an accident; I swear.” She gives Millie’s shoulder a little rub. “See, little bean? I told you, everyone has accidents, especially when they’re little.”

“Big Bee,” Millie sniffs. “Luxie baby.”

“That’s true,” Louis says, smiling a bit nostalgically and twisting some of her curls. 

Millie looks up at Anne, slapping Louis’ hand away. “Bee Dussy now?”

Anne smiles and gives Millie a kiss on the tip of her nose. “Of course, sweet pea. Say hello to Grandma Jay on your way outside?”

“Yes!” Millie’s bare feet slap against the floor as she runs through the kitchen, yelling a breezy _hi, Grannajay!_ before the screen door slides open and shut.

“That’s more than she’s smiled in a week,” Harry sighs. He leans his head down against his mother’s and she wraps him up in a tight hug. “You’re a good mum.”

“That’s always nice to hear,” Anne says. She opens one arm and waves Louis in for a hug. “And I’m thinking there’s someone else in the kitchen who might want to hear it.”

“Eh,” Louis shrugs, eyes twinkling. “If she’s made a proper roast she _might_ deserve that title.”

“Lewis!” Anne cuffs him on the back of the head. “Cruel! Go say hello to your mother.”

Louis hangs his head. “Yes, ma’am.”

He kisses Harry swiftly on the cheek and turns to go, shambling into the kitchen with only a pause to pick up and examine a framed photograph of Harry at Millie’s age from the desk in the hall. Once he’s gone, Harry turns his head to smile down at Anne.

“Thanks for inviting us up,” he says. “I know it’s a hassle when we’re here, once word gets out.”

“Well, hopefully it won’t,” Anne says. She cups her hand over Harry’s cheek. “You look tired.”

“I am tired,” Harry sighs. “I’m very tired.”

Anne sighs. “It looks like her poor little head got rather a wallop. Poor little duck. It’s hard the first time your baby gets hurt, even without all the newspapers calling you a bad parent.”

Harry’s green eyes go over glassy with tears and his chin crumples a bit as he nods. Anne murmurs soothingly and tucks Harry into a tight hug again, letting him cry on her shoulder for a moment. 

“I know, sweetheart,” she says, “But she’s just fine. It’ll heal up in no time at all and she’ll be back bouncing from the walls. You did _nothing_ wrong.”

“I wasn’t there,” Harry whispers. “It wouldn’t have happened if I was there, and she had to go to the hospital all alone in the ambulance, and you didn’t see the _look_ they gave me when I got there. And that newspaper column said – it said she should get _taken away_ , and – ”

“Now, hush, Harry,” Anne says firmly. “That’s ridiculous blather. No one _sane_ really believes that Millie should be taken away from you just because she knocked her own head. All kids get a good lump on the head at least once, and it’s scary and it’s terrible but it’s _normal_ and you’re not to blame. That column was written by some nutter who thinks it’s wrong you had her young and single anyway, and doesn’t well approve of Lou living with you. _But you did nothing wrong._ ”

Harry hesitates, but nods. 

Anne pats his hair gently. “I promise. You know me, darling, I’ll be your biggest supporter and your harshest critic, both. You’re doing everything right with Millie. She’s beautiful and happy and healthy and smart as a whip. So she’s got a lump and a black eye. They’ll heal and she’ll hardly remember by this time next year.”

“Well, I will,” Harry grunts. “That was awful. I feel guilty every time I look at her.”

“Well, that’s probably why she’s been sour, daffy!” Anne laughs dryly, giving him a swat. “She’s little but she _is_ smart and she can pick up on your moods. Always has done and always will do. She thinks something’s really wrong with how she looks because of how you’re looking at her.”

Harry nods and sighs. “I just need… to get my head on straight, I think. I’ve just – been worried someone will show up and take her away.”

Anne cups Harry’s jaw in one hand and kisses his other cheek. “No one is going to take her away for one clear accident, darling. There were witnesses who saw her fall. All she did was fall. _All children_ fall. Goodness, I dropped you on your head once, and you’ve turned out wonderfully! Although maybe I wouldn’t broadcast that, if I were you.”

“It’s too late,” Louis calls, sticking his head out of the kitchen, “I heard it. Harry got dropped on his head as a baby, har har!”

Jay’s hand appears from the depths of the kitchen and thwacks Louis over the back of his own head, and he winces, ducking away again.

“Sweetheart,” Anne says, “You and Louis should spend the weekend at the bungalow and let Millie have some time with the girls. You need to get your head on straight, you’ve said yourself, and Millie needs some time with people who… don’t not have their heads on straight.”

“I can’t,” Harry protests, shaking his head, “I can’t leave her, not right now, I – ”

“Why don’t you ask her what she wants to do?” Anne suggests. 

Harry nods, and Anne ruffles his hair as he trudges outside. In the yard, Millie is holding hands with the twins as all of the girls join together to teach Millie “Ring Around A Rosie.” 

“Millie?” Harry calls. “Can I talk to you a second?”

Millie sighs and looks up at Daisy. “Hold.” She runs over to Harry. “Yes?”

Harry smiles and straightens one of her messy curls. “Sweetie, do you want me and Muppie to stay with you in your room this weekend, or do you want to have a slumber party with the girls?”

“Girls!” Millie cheers. “Bee girl!”

Harry laughs through his nose. “Okay, little bean. Then after dinner, me and Mup will go stay at another house. Is that okay?”

“Yes.” Millie looks impatient. “Bee gogo now?”

Harry laughs outright this time and pats her side. “Yes, yes, yes, gogo now.”

Millie tears off back across the yard again, making a sharp detour with a squeal when Dusty streaks past.

Harry shakes his head and comes back inside through the kitchen. Louis is standing at the counter with the most perplexed look on his face, trying to follow Jay’s directions as she shows him how to ribbon strips off a courgette with a vegetable peeler. Harry lets his smile linger as he comes up behind Louis and hooks his chin over Louis’ shoulder; he takes the peeler and courgette out of Louis’ hands and starts to pull off stripes. 

“Did she want to stay with the girls, then?” Anne asks.

“Of course,” Harry sighs. “Bee girl.”

Louis turns his face, and Harry pecks him a quick, chaste kiss. 

“Well, I’m glad,” Louis says. “She’s been so solitary. Maybe now things will go back to normal.”

“It’ll be weird being at the bungalow without the boys,” Harry says. 

“I don’t want to call them up,” Louis says quickly. “A weekend away sounds better to me than dealing with Niall’s farts.”

“Can you not talk about Niall’s farts in my kitchen?” Anne cries, throwing a carrot down on the countertop. “Honestly!”

“It’s true, it’d be more respectable to talk about your own foot-smell,” Harry points out, nudging Louis’ ribs with his elbow.

Louis pulls a face. “Or how _you were dropped on your head as a baby_.”

Dinner is a nice affair, even with Millie’s renewed self-consciousness as she takes her seat between Louis and Eleanor’s chairs. Millie keeps reaching out of her chair to pick at Eleanor’s long hair, pulling it enviously, but finally Eleanor stands up and drapes her own hair over Millie’s head like a toupee and Millie laughs until she almost topples out of her seat again.

“Edderder!” Millie cackles. “No! No Bee head!”

“What?” Eleanor asks, using the end of her hair to tickle Millie’s chin. “This isn’t your hair?”

“No!”

“Then why are you pulling on it?”

Millie throws her arms up and shrugs, giggling.

Eleanor smiles at her and pulls her hair away, quickly twisting it into a chignon. She taps Millie’s nose gently. “When your head feels all better, I’ll braid your own hair again for you, okay?”

Millie nods and covers her prickly bald stripe with both hands. “No hair now.”

“No,” Eleanor agrees. “Not right now.”

Harry leans around Louis and Millie to catch Eleanor’s eye. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Eleanor answers, shrugging one slim shoulder again. She steals some more roast from Gemma’s plate and replaces it with a knife’s load of peas from her plate. Gemma’s mouth drops open in mock indignation and she tugs on the end of a lock that’s escaped from Eleanor’s twisted ponytail.

“Hey!”

“Like auntie, like… neice-y,” Gemma retorts, and steals back her roast.

Millie’s eyes sparkle. “Silly!”

Eleanor laughs and knocks her shoulder against Gemma’s. “That’s right,” she says. “We’re all quite silly.”

After they’ve all eaten – Millie tries Phoebe’s favorite peas with honey, but makes such a terrible face that Harry has to snap a photo _even_ with the black eyes – and made a massive assembly line to clear the table and wash the dishes, Harry gathers tired Millie in her pyjamas up in a hug.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright all weekend without me and Muppie?” he asks. “We’ll be very close if you want Grandma to call us.”

“Tay,” Millie murmurs sleepily. 

“I love you so much, sweetie,” Harry whispers, and kisses her head carefully. 

“Luvvyu,” Millie whispers back, almost asleep. She smudges a messy kiss on Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s heart feels lighter than it has in weeks when Louis kisses Millie’s head and she murmurs _luvvimuppie_ to him. Harry carries her upstairs to the crib set up in the room currently being shared by the twins, and after he kisses her face one more time, he and Louis set off for a weekend alone together at the bungalow to remember how to _be_.

•••

On Monday morning, Harry opens the door of his mum’s house and frowns, peering around. “Hello?”

“We’re upstairs, sweetheart!” Anne calls. “Come on up!”

Harry shrugs at Louis and they head up the stairs, Louis adjusting his collar to cover the necklace of lovebites ringing his throat. When they get to the top of the stairs, everyone is lining the hall between Harry’s childhood bedroom and the bathroom.

“What’s – ”

The door of the bathroom opens and Millie comes out, beaming, the back of her dress rucked up into the waist of her tights. Her hands are sopping wet as she waves at Harry.

“Hi, Daddy! Bee potty… yes, snakes! Snakes, snakes, snakes!” She jumps over and hugs Harry- and Louis’ legs, nuzzling her nose into their knees, singing about snakes. “Bee snakes! Daddy snakes! Muppie snakes! Home, snakes!”

Louis glares at Harry.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	19. Chapter 19

Danielle points her toes. “Now stretch out your ankles – ”

“Do I have _ankles_?” Millie asks, astounded. She looks down at her feet with wide eyes. “Howzabouthat!”

Liam chuckles over the rim of his glass. “How’s about that?”

“It’s her new phrase,” Harry explains. “I think she heard it on telly.” He smiles fondly over to Millie flexing and pointing her feet while Danielle gently holds down Millie’s knees. “She’s growing fast.”

“I miss when she called herself ‘bee,’” Liam admits.

“She does still sometimes,” Harry says. “It’s only been a few weeks. When she’s trying to sound important she calls herself ‘bee’ still.”

“Like the queen,” Liam says, and takes the long last sip of his green smoothie. He rinses the glass and holds his hand out for Harry’s.

Harry drains his own and hands the glass to Liam. “The queen?”

“‘We are not amused,’” Liam replies in an affected RP accent. “Talking about herself in the second person.”

“Third person,” Harry corrects. “Although I think the queen’s is like fourth person or omniscient or something.”

Liam blinks at him blankly, then jumps up, startling Harry. “I remember learning about that! The royal ‘we.’ Yeah.”

Harry claps Liam on the shoulder. “That’s right, Dickens. Did you want to ring Niall and see if he wants to come work out?”

Liam shrugs, nodding, and pulls out his mobile. Harry leans against the kitchen doorframe to watch Millie stretching her chubby legs out in the butterfly sit while Danielle counts out eights, and he smiles fondly at Millie’s battered tutu sticking up at all angles.

“Hold!” Millie cries out suddenly, thrusting out both hands. “No talking! No moving! Bee potty.”

She pushes herself wobblily up to her feet and scampers off, leaving her tutu in a crinoline heap on the floor.

“D’you need help, pretty girl?” Danielle calls through the bathroom door.

“No!” Millie yells, and it echoes around Liam’s bathroom. “No talking! No moving! I be right back.”

Danielle cocks an eyebrow and glances to Harry. 

“She’s afraid of missing things while she’s in the loo,” Harry explains, more mouthing than speaking. “She waits until the very last second so she doesn’t have to leave the room.”

Danielle’s hand presses to her chest. “Bless her little heart.”

“It’s cute until she wees on the floor,” Harry says drolly.

“Help!” Millie shrieks from inside the bathroom. “Arms!”

“And that’s what I suspected,” Danielle says knowingly. “A lifetime of leotards. Can I come in, Pretty, or do you want your daddy?”

“Help! Grown-up!” Millie shrieks, desperation lacing her words. Danielle opens the door and doesn’t quite manage to conceal a bark of laughter. “Oh, you’re all tangled up. Let’s sort this out.”

“Fast! Gogo!” Millie urges, hopping from one foot to the other as Danielle tries to disentangle Millie’s arms from her leotard.

“Are you okay, bean?” Harry calls, looking down the hall.

“Yes!” Millie says tetchily. “Big girl Bee!”

“There we go!” Danielle assures her quickly, “Do you need help getting up?”

“No, I do it!” Millie grunts, and there’s a worrying knee-on-porcelain sound, but then Millie just shrieks, “Door, door, door!”

The door shuts again, and Harry scrubs both hands over his face.

“Have I ever told you, Payner, that toddlers are really difficult?” 

“No,” Liam says earnestly. “But you can, if you’d like. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I want to have a whole two hours in my life where I don’t have to talk about anyone else’s gastrointestines,” Harry sighs. “Let’s go work out.”

“Alright,” Liam says. “Niall says he’ll meet us upstairs. Which means he won’t.”

Harry laughs, and he knocks his shoulder against Liam’s as they leave the apartment.

“Say, did I tell you that my kidney’s fixed itself?” 

“No. Gastrointestines.”

Liam looks meek as he pushes open the building’s gym door. “Sorry.”

Niall never does show up to the gym, but neither Harry nor Liam are big talkers while they’re exercising anyway – Liam’s always had too much rigid self-discipline, and Harry just tries to keep up (although he’s getting better. He’d taken to grazing from the little snack baskets they kept out for Millie, and after fans had begun nicknaming his belly, he started religiously taking Liam up on his offers to go do cardio and boxing). When they finish, Harry claps Liam in a sweaty hug, and they part ways to shower in their own apartments.

Louis’ rumpled bedhead pops up from the sofa when Harry opens the door.

“Hey,” Louis croaks, rubbing at his eyes. “Nice Olympics impression. Pretending to be Tom Daley?”

“Ryan Lochte,” Harry retorts drily. “I see you’ve gone for the gold in napping.”

“Erm, it was my night to be on wee patrol,” Louis argues. “And up at six with Mills to feed the salamander.” He stretches and Harry leans over the back of the sofa to see the way Louis’ shirt rucks up, then drops a light kiss on Louis’ sour morning mouth once he’s finished yawning. Louis wrinkles his nose. “You smell.”

“You like it. Fancy a shower?”

“I fancy another two hours’ sleep,” Louis groans, falling facefirst down onto the couch. “What do we have today, again?”

“Just a meeting. And two interviews. And tonight we’re taping _Come Dine with Me_ against JLS and Rizzle Kicks and – ”

“ _Ugh_ ,” Louis groans. “Not _them_.” 

Harry chuckles and kisses Louis’ upturned chin. “Sorry. You’ll have to deal with Max George for one more day of your life.”

“It’s not him,” Louis grumps. “It’s Tom that’s the massive wanker. Harry,” he wheedles, “I don’t want to go. Give me a good excuse. I’ve suddenly become allergic to all foods or something.”

“I don’t think that will work,” Harry says, eyes twinkling. He cups Louis’ stubbly jaw in one hand and caresses his thumb over Louis’ cheekbone tenderly. “But c’mon. Let me make it worth your while.”

Still grumbling, Louis heaves himself off the sofa and follows Harry, their fingers lightly twined; Louis starts the water while Harry strips out of his sweaty exercise clothing and drops it in his washing basket, then slides his hands up Louis’ torso, gathering his t-shirt up to pull it over Louis’ head. He kisses Louis’ shoulder.

“You smell nice.”

Louis snorts. “What a cheap line. And I smell like man-sleep.”

“I like your man-sleep smell,” Harry defends. “It’s sexy.” He nuzzles his nose along the nape of Louis’ neck and gooseflesh prickles up all down Louis’ arms. His nipples pebble, and Harry swipes over them with one warm hand. “Mm, I want you.”

Louis rubs back up against Harry’s half-hard cock where it nestles against Louis’ arse. “Is that so? Well, sorry, horny boy. I’m still sore from last night, unfortunately. Or fortunately, depending on your perspective. From my perspective that’s actually pretty nice, in terms of last night. But I suppose your dick’s perspective is a very sad, and vertical, one.”

Harry’s forehead wrinkles between his eyebrows. “Are you really?”

Louis nods and turns over his shoulder to kiss Harry’s mouth gently before stepping into the shower. “Yep. You went hard last night, H, what did you expect?”

Harry shrugs. “I didn’t really think about it. Are – you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Louis assures him. “I just, it’s – you’re big, and I don’t – you – we – twice in a row is kind of a lot and I’m tired and – ”

“Okay,” Harry says gently, and steps into the spray of the water, crowding Louis. “I get it. Budge up a bit, I need the shampoo.”

Louis dollops shampoo onto his own fingers and massages them through Harry’s hair. Harry purrs and leans his head back into Louis’ skillful hands. 

“D’you want something else?” Louis asks in a low voice. His nails scritch at Harry’s scalp behind his ears and Harry shivers. “I can still make you feel good.”

Harry rumbles low in his chest, reaching back to grope at Louis’ hip. “Thought you were tired.”

Louis shrugs and gently leads Harry into the spray of the showerhead to rinse out his hair. “Yeah, but I like doing things for you. I’m good at it. Boosts my self-esteem.”

“You’re cocky,” Harry laughs, then spits out a mouthful of soapy water. 

Louis slides his hands down over Harry’s chest and his smallest finger finds Harry’s lower nipple. “Is that a pun?”

Harry snorts, then stutters into a low hiss when Louis’ hands lower to wrap over Harry’s hard cock, pumping slowly, teasing. Louis peppers kisses across the back of Harry’s shoulders while his hands work.

“Did you want – we can try it, if you want…” Louis offers, his voice low in Harry’s ear. Harry tenses – then bites his lip and nods, eyes fluttering shut as one of Louis’ hands slides to fondle Harry’s balls fleetingly before caressing his hip and down over the cleft of Harry’s arse. 

“Yeah?” Louis whispers, and gingerly kneels behind Harry on the shower floor. They have a cushioned, non-stick mat stuck to the bathtub’s surface – and they often take advantage of its unintended happy consequence of serving as a brace on knobby kneecaps during the only time they can scrape to be together. “Hands on the wall.”

Harry shudders low in the base of his back and rests his hands on the wall, then thinks better of it and braces himself on his forearms, head rested between his hands. Louis can feel Harry’s heart speed up at being spread like this, bent over in front of him, and he stills his hand around Harry’s cock and presses a kiss to the dimple at the base of Harry’s back. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want,” he reminds Harry quietly, and his thumb gently rubs over Harry’s belly. “I know it’s a weird thing.”

“It’s not weird,” Harry insists. “I did it to you and it wasn’t weird. Well, it was a little weird, but – good weird, you know, like, erm, basically, I liked that… side, so…”

“You’re rambling, H,” Louis says, smirking, and gives the round of Harry’s arsecheek an admonishing bite. 

Harry yelps, affronted, and glances down at Louis. “Behave, you.”

Louis gives Harry’s cock a lazy drag. “Do you really want me to behave?”

“No,” Harry sighs, and nestles his face into his arms again – it almost muffles his half-embarrassed next words. “I want you to lick me out.”

Louis’ own heart speeds up, thumping hard in his chest, and he can’t find anything to say back so he just swallows and nods and pumps his hand over Harry’s prick and uses the other hand to spread Harry open for his mouth.

Harry gasps shallow and quick and his hips jerk away from Louis’ tongue twice, quickly, on instinct, but Louis just kisses the curve of Harry’s thigh and murmurs _y’alright?_ and Harry nods again, breathing heavily from Louis’ steady, just-this-side-of-too-slow hand sliding over his prick again; Louis’ wrist twists at the thick base just as he laves a slow, warm kiss below Harry’s tailbone and Harry mumbles in surprise as his cock blurts precome over Louis’ fingertips.

“Y’alright?” Louis asks again. He thumbs over Harry’s slit and Harry groans, nodding frantically.

“Yeah, yes, Lou, I’m _fine_ , do it again.”

It doesn’t take more than five more pumps over Harry’s cock while Louis licks at him before Harry is gasping and coming, painting a stripe over the shower wall. Louis keeps his hand moving gently, easing Harry through the orgasm, and kisses the tense muscles at the base of Harry’s spine.

Harry stays braced on the wall while he catches his breath, and behind him, Louis stands and wraps one arm around Harry’s waist while quickly jerking himself off, splattering Harry’s arse for only moments before the shower washes it away. 

Louis rests his forehead against the flat of Harry’s shoulder blade, then takes a deep breath and kisses away a droplet of water coursing over Harry’s pale skin. “Was that okay?”

“Oh my god,” Harry mumbles into his arms. “Can we do that _all the time_?”

Louis laughs and hooks his chin over Harry’s shoulder, hugging him close. “Sure.”

“Okay,” Harry says, “Again, right now, just – all the time, all the time that.”

Louis’ eyes shine with mirth as he reaches around Harry’s still-shivering abdomen to shut off the water. “Give yourself a chance to recover, James Deen. D’you need a minute to get your legs in order or shall I hand you a towel?”

“Shut up,” Harry mutters, and turns his face to receive a kiss. Louis hesitates, but Harry rolls his eyes and lifts his chin, insisting. Louis kisses Harry gently before pulling away, but Harry finally stands and turns and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, hauling him in for a long, sweet kiss. Harry nuzzles the side of his nose against Louis’. “I love you.”

Louis smiles almost bashfully and nestles his face into Harry’s neck, tightening his arms around him. “I love you, too.” Harry’s long fingers gently rub over Louis’ back for a long minute before Louis tilts his face up and kisses the under-curve of Harry’s jaw. “C’mon. I’m cold, and you need to get Bean.”

When Harry lets himself into Liam’s apartment after dressing and shaking out his hair, Danielle immediately presses a finger to her lips to shush him. Harry cocks his head, eyebrows knit, and Danielle gestures to the living room where the big terrarium takes up a large portion of the back wall.

Sitting in front of it right on the floor is Liam, cross-legged and doe-eyed, staring up at Boris and Archimedes swimming around. Millie is sat in his lap, very still and quiet, just as enthralled. It’s the calmest Harry has seen her in ages – at least when she’s awake.

“They’ve been like that for an hour,” Danielle whispers. “Haven’t hardly moved at all.”

“Weirdies,” Harry whispers back fondly as he bites back a smile. “Bean? Are you ready to go?”

“No,” Millie calls back, not looking up. “Tutturs.”

“Yeah, I know there are turtles,” Harry says. “But we’ve got to go, sweetie. Liam has to get ready to go to the interview and we need to get some lunch in you.”

“Lunch?” Millie asks, interest piqued. She cranes her neck and peers at Harry over Liam’s shoulder. “Samosas?”

Danielle bursts out laughing. “Where on earth did she try that?”

Harry shrugs. “Probably with Zayn. I’ve stopped asking. He’s trying to teach her Urdu as well, and I think Niall’s been attempting Spanish, as she comes home from seeing him and shouts ‘Olé!’ for about an hour.”

“Unodostres!” Millie cries, jumping up from Liam’s lap and running over. She hugs Harry’s leg and wipes her nose on his knee before beaming up at him. “Bee _needs_ tacos.”

Harry laughs and smooths her hair gently. “You do, huh? You _need_ tacos?”

Millie nods earnestly. 

“What’s the magic word?” Harry reminds her gently, still smoothing back her hair. “Remember?”

Millie’s lips purse as she thinks, and then she jumps up and down, bouncing on the tips of her toes. “Please!”

Harry smiles. “Good girl. Sure, little bean, we can find you some tacos.”

Millie raises her arms to the sky and twirls in a stompy circle, making Harry, Danielle, and Liam all laugh again.

“Miss Millie, why don’t you show your daddy the dance we’ve been working on?” Danielle asks, and pats down the flyaway crinoline of Millie’s tutu. Millie nods and carefully arranges her legs into the first balletic position, her arms –

“Hold a sun,” Millie recites. She bends her wonky knees in a plie, and Harry claps. Millie repeats this in second (“Hug a tree”) and fourth positions (“dancing princess”), skipping third and fifth entirely, and breaks into a raucous dance routine all her own after Danielle praises her.

“Danielle?” Harry asks thoughtfully, patting Millie’s head gently as she twirls around his legs, “Would you give Millie dancing lessons?”

“I’d love to, but I don’t have time, Harry,” Danielle says. “You should just sign her up for some Minis classes at the dance studio.”

Harry frowns. “I’ll pay you; I mean, I don’t expect it as a favor.”

“Hazz, it’s really that I don’t have time,” Danielle says, and she lays a steady hand on Harry’s arm. “Plus, it’d be good for Millie to get around kids her own age. And it’d be good for you to be without her for a bit each week.”

“Well, she knows Lux and Charlie and Aoife,” Harry argues. “She’s got friends her age.”

“She’s got littler _baby_ friends that she bosses around,” Danielle says. “Harry, you’re always saying you want her to grow up normal. Not knowing anyone her own age isn’t normal, and being around her dad all the time isn’t normal either. You’re both going to turn out weird if you don’t start getting time apart.”

“We’ve had time apart. I missed the first two months of her life.”

“And you’ve been there every day since,” Danielle assures him. She squeezes his arm gently. “You’ve gotta start letting her go a bit, really. I’m not saying to sign her up for boarding school and go off on a world tour without her, but she needs playmates her own age. And she needs to be around girls! You and Louis are great parents but girls need time with just girls.” She grins down at Millie. “Right, pretty?”

“Yeah!” Millie agrees. She wasn’t listening, but she’ll agree with anything Danielle says.

Harry smiles tightly. “I’ll think about it. It probably depends on the tour, doesn’t it?” He shrugs. “Come on, Milliebean. Let’s go find you some tacos.”

Millie bounces over on tiptoe and wiggles her hand into Harry’s, clutching tightly at his thumb. She waves brightly to Liam and Danielle, and Harry leads her down the hall and back to the elevator. 

“Come on, bean,” Harry murmurs, and lifts Millie into his arms for the ride up to their own floor. She fluffs at Harry’s hair, then nods appreciatively and tries to fix her own hair. They’d cut her fringe short and blunt to help the shaved stripe grow in more smoothly, but now it had all become shaggy and hung into her eyes again. Harry kisses the top of her head and brushes back her fringe. “D’you need a haircut?”

“No!” Millie cries, and covers her head with both arms.

“I bet Luxie will get a haircut with you,” Harry suggests. “Lou can do it for you just how you like.”

“I want _long_ hairs,” Millie says with great relish. “Like Edderder. And Danielle!”

Harry wrinkles his nose and frowns. “Me and your mup are a bit useless for long hair, sweetie.”

Millie pouts, still covering her head petulantly. “I do it.”

“You’ll do it?” Harry asks, laughing gently and combing his fingers through Millie’s matted hair. “When we get home, you can show me how you brush your hair, then, alright?”

“Yes. Bee do it,” Millie declares, nodding succinctly. She pats Harry’s hair. “Bee do Daddy’s hair. Bee do Muppie’s hair. No Zayng hair.”

Harry’s head drops back as he laughs. “No, don’t do Zayn’s hair. He might bite your fingers off.”

Millie shrieks and wriggles her fingers in Harry’s face and he mimes chomping down on them, _gobble gobble gobble_.

The elevator stops on their floor and when the doors slide open, Harry sees Louis, his hair still damp, waiting for them with the apartment door open and a soft smile on his face. Harry smiles back, his eyes sparkling, and sets Millie down to run at Louis, yelling _Muppie! I missed you so much!_ as though she hadn’t seen him in years. Louis’ face breaks into a crinkle-eyed grin and he crouches down to receive a barreling hug, rolling backwards into the living room when Millie clobbers him.

“Muppie!” Millie cries, and she crawls up his chest to pet his hair, smushing the fringe around with her fingers. “I do Muppie’s hair.”

“You want to do what to my hair?” Louis asks suspiciously, still sprawled in the doorway. Harry carefully steps over him and heads to the kitchen to start making Millie’s tacos for lunch. 

“I do it,” Millie repeats, and fluffs Louis’ fringe away from his forehead in a pompadour. “Brush. Bows.”

“No, Bean,” Harry calls from the kitchen. “You said you’d brush your _own_ hair, remember?”

“Oh!” Millie cries, scrambling off Louis’ chest to trot into her bedroom. “I do Bee hair. Perrie!”

“Alright, sweetie. You do your hair like Perrie’s,” Louis calls, then pushes himself up and sidles into the kitchen to help Harry.

When Millie emerges from her room half an hour later, the back of her head is still entirely snarled together, but there are barrettes and bows hanging from every lock of her fringe and the sides of her head. She’s put on a yellow dress with blue striped tights and a purple scarf, and she strikes a dramatic pose in the kitchen. The back of her dress is stubbornly tucked into her tights, as it usually is these days until Harry or Louis manages to catch her and fix it.

There’s a scurrying sound from the corner of the living room and Millie’s eyes light up. She trots over to the tank that holds the small pink salamander they had bought her in lieu of a snake; when informed at the pet store that snakes could live up to forty years in captivity, Harry decided that was too much responsibility for a person who had yet to live even two years herself, but Millie had cried and cried – until Louis showed her the soft, fuzzy white mice she could be expected to _feed_ her snake, and Millie’s horror had mitigated her feelings of some betrayal. In the end, the salamander was their compromise, though Millie refused to touch the crickets they fed it. 

“Hi, Bobo,” she coos adoringly at the amphibian. “Bee Lilmix.”

Louis stuffs his knuckles into his mouth and resolutely hides behind the open refrigerator door. Harry swallows twice and carefully says, “Yes, of _course_ you look like Little Mix. Is that what you want to wear to the interviews tonight?”

Millie gives him a withering look. “Yes.” She jangles her way over to the table and climbs into her high chair. She gestures imperiously: “Bee tacos, Daddy.”

•••

Trying to prepare for Millie’s second birthday party without her intrusion proves nearly impossible. She’d allowed Lou Teasdale to cut her hair after Lux’s new haircut at her first birthday garnered her endless coos and compliments and, in Millie’s mind, presents – which of course were for her birthday and not her haircut, but Harry wasn’t going to correct her – and now Millie’s hair is short and bouncy and she continuously shakes the curls about, begging for attention. Louis glances over at her petting Bobo the salamander in his tank, humming tunelessly like she’s singing him a lullaby. Millie looks up and sees Louis looking, and she pets the newt’s head consolingly before tipping its tank back onto the table and jogging over to Louis.

“Muppie!” Millie yowls, clambering up onto Louis’ lap as he tries to covertly text instructions to Gemma and Eleanor about the party, “Bee needs kisses!”

“Oh, do you?” Louis asks, tickling her belly. “Why do you need kisses, little bean?”

Millie frowns, and her lower lip pouts out. “Noring me!”

“Ignoring you?” Louis asks, widening his eyes. “Who’s ignoring you?”

“Muppie and Daddy!” Millie exclaims, gesturing broadly with exasperation. “Muppie, Bee, Daddy. No Muppie, Daddy, no Bee!” She shakes her curls about and tips her head towards Louis. “Kisses. Now.” She pauses, then grudgingly adds, “Please.”

Louis gives the top of Millie’s head a smacking kiss. “There you go. Because you said ‘please.’” He hitches Millie more securely onto his knee and asks, “Do you know what tomorrow is, little bean?”

Millie’s face breaks into a sunshine grin. “Mine birthday!”

“Right!” Louis asks. “What happens on your birthday? Do you know?”

Millie shakes her head, eyes round. 

“You’ll be _two years old_ ,” Louis explains. “Can you believe that? Two whole years old.”

Millie shrugs, and Louis thinks that maybe if you don’t have a concept of what a year is, then being two years old isn’t that impressive. “Okeydokeyarbichokey.”

Louis cracks up laughing and tickles Millie’s belly again to make her shriek and wriggle as he mimes _okey-dokey-artichokey?_ He peppers the back of her head with kisses. “You silly goose, I love you.”

“Luvviyou too, Muppie,” Millie says dutifully, and grasps Louis’ cheeks in her hands to squish his lips together into a fishmouth for her amusement.

There’s a knock at the door and Millie immediately drops Louis’ face to go tromping off at top-speed towards it. She bounces excitedly on her chunky little feet as Louis chuckles and gets up to open the door.

“Hey, Z,” Lou greets, but both Zayn and Millie completely ignore him as she reaches up her arms and Zayn scoops her up to toss her in the air and catch her in a hug.

“Salam!” Millie says happily as she hugs Zayn hard around the neck.

“Salam, chota acchi,” Zayn says back, and kisses her head. “Kya hal hai?”

“Bee theek, aur aap?” Millie replies, shaking her curls all about. “I missed you mehsoos huwi!”

“Is that so?” Zayn laughs. “Main theek hun, bahut bahut shukriya.”

“Alright,” Louis grouses. “English only in front of all Mups. I feel like you’re talking about me.”

“Mujhe Urdu achchhi lagti hai,” Millie says knowingly to Zayn. He laughs with his nose crinkled and tickles Millie’s ribs until she’s shrieking.

Louis still looks cross. “Get outta here, you two. We’ll meet you for dinner at Sticky Fingers round half-seven.” He pouts plaintively at Millie. “Give Mup a kiss?”

Millie leans precariously out of Zayn’s arms and clasps her hands over Louis’ face so that his lips puff out. She kisses the end of his nose. “Mein tumse pyar karta hun, Mup!”

“Kart _i_ hun,” Zayn corrects her. “Mup’s a boy.”

Millie considers this for a long moment. 

“Mein tumse pyar karti hun, Mup,” she amends. 

Louis kisses her forehead and nods to Zayn. “See you around later.”

Once the front door clicks shut, Harry peeks his head out of the bedroom that’s become LouisAndHarry’s. “Is Bean gone?”

“Yep,” Louis confirms. “You can start on the cake now.”

Harry’s lips twitch. “Maybe I should just order one.”

“H,” Louis sighs, “You’ve waffled on this for the last two weeks. You said you wanted to try making one yourself. I said I thought you should order one. You said that you thought you remembered from Mandeville’s. I said go ahead and make one then. Then we had sex. This was less than ten hours ago, H, honestly; your memory needs work.”

Harry shakes his head, then swoops his fringe out of his eyes. “Fine. Alright. Yes. Are you going to help me?”

Louis blinks. “D’you remember when the twins told you I burnt their linguini?”

Harry waves his hand dismissively. “That was years ago. More than two, in point of fact.” He smiles then with downcast, soft eyes, and Louis reaches out to give Harry’s fingers a squeeze. Harry looks up and sniffs once, then laughs at himself. “Just, basically, it doesn’t seem like she could be so old. Time’s moving, isn’t it?”

“Pretty fast,” Louis agrees. “Feels like yesterday, though. Sometimes.”

“Sometimes it seems forever,” Harry agrees. “I can’t really remember my life before Bean. And you.”

Louis kisses Harry lightly. “Well, I remember life before you. So I’m glad I’ve got you now. And the boys, and Bean. And money. That helps.”

Harry gives Louis a smack on the arse. “I’m being serious, here! My baby is having a birthday and I’m all fragile and need your manly comfort.”

“Again?” Louis jokes, following Harry into the kitchen. “You weren’t kidding about needing it all the time.”

Harry raises one eyebrow and looks Louis up and down lasciviously. “I wasn’t. But you’ve told me that I need to bake a cake now, so you’ll have to wait.”

Louis hops up on the countertop to watch Harry bake, and Harry makes him read the recipe aloud from his iPad and double-check all of Harry’s work (which mainly means suggestively licking chocolate from his fingers and making exaggerated noises of panic when Harry makes small mistakes, like bits of eggshell in the batter or sifting the flour only once, not twice). Harry finally banishes Louis to the bedroom to finish wrapping the rest of Millie’s gifts, but after a third unsuccessful try at disguising a tricycle via wrapping paper, Louis just sprawls out on the floor in defeat and takes a nap.

He wakes to Harry leaning over him, eyebrow arched in amusement.

“What?” Louis croaks, then clears his throat.

“I’ve been calling your name for five minutes,” Harry says. “Eleanor rang; she asked if you still wanted her to come to Sticky Fingers. I said no.”

“Oh,” Louis says, then carefully hedges, “But I do want her to come.”

“Why?” Harry asks, and the amusement is gone in his drawn brows. “We’ve – it’s been eight months, and that’s – do you still need her?”

“That video is still online, H,” Louis mumbles, closing his eyes. 

“But Modest! paid,” Harry argues. “After the album went gold, they paid what he asked for.”

“That doesn’t – ” Louis cuts himself off. “It’s still there, and people are still looking at it, and I’m – if I have El, then… then it’s easier to think it’s a lookalike. It’s not… me.”

Harry clenches his teeth. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then steps over Louis and goes to the closet to change his clothes. “It’s really not that bad, Lou. You’re not, like, doing anything… basically, it’s not like you’re doing anything _awful_ in it.”

There’s a heated silence.

“ _Have you seen it_?” Louis’ voice is dangerously quiet. “ _Did you – how did you find it_?”

Harry looks down and fingers the cuff of a blazer still on its hanger in the closet. “I used your iPad.” He coughs. “I didn’t mean to see it, but it was there and – ”

“You looked at my e-mails?” Louis explodes. “You had no right to – why – that’s months old; you were _looking_ for it, you _were_. Harry, _why would you do that to me_? What did you want? What were you expecting it to be? Did you – did you fucking get off on it? Is that what you wanted?”

“No! Louis, I was just curious, I just – what he did to you was awful and I… don’t know what I was thinking, but – ”

“That’s not good enough, Harry! I _know_ you, I know how you think, and you don’t just do things because you’re curious ‘cause you sorta learned that lesson two years and eight months ago, didn’t you?” Louis’ blue eyes are venomous. “ _What were you looking at it for_?”

“I wanted to see what you’re so afraid of!” Harry says finally, whirling around. “It’s _four minutes long_ , Lou, and it _is_ blurry and you _can’t_ tell whether it’s you or a lookalike and you’re, basically, you’re so fucking afraid of people seeing it that you’re making yourself miserable and making my _sister_ have to hide in the closet with you and that’s not – I just wanted to know _why_. And I don’t get it. Having seen it, I don’t understand.”

Louis’ face is stony as he stares at Harry. He doesn’t even look angry anymore. Just blank.

“Is Gemma unhappy?”

“What?”

“Is Gemma unhappy?” Louis repeats. “Because you’re right, it’s become unfair to her. I can – I’ll talk to El. But if not her… I’ll find someone else,” he says flatly. “Leigh Anne, maybe. Or Amelia Lily or someone. One of the models the Sun is always putting _you_ with. That’s my choice, Harry. I’m not – ”

“Why are you so embarrassed of me?” Harry asks despondently, sitting down on the edge of their bed. “What have I done that’s so awful you can’t admit you’re actually with me?”

“Believe it or not, Harry, sometimes I make choices that aren’t to do with you,” Louis says, and shakes his head. He pulls a random shirt from the closet and starts changing into it, turned away from Harry. “This is about me, and _my_ life.”

Harry is very quiet for a long time as Louis finishes buttoning the pinstriped shirt, rings Eleanor to re-invite her to dinner, and starts fixing his hair at their mirror. 

Harry finally looks up and Louis’ stomach bottoms out a bit at the realization that the rims of Harry’s eyes are red. “I just didn’t realize you were planning for a life without me and Millie in it, after – I _asked_ you, Louis, I _told_ you I can’t risk that, so I just… I thought…”

“Harry,” Louis says firmly but softly, “Stop. That’s not how I meant it. Just, you can’t choose for me if I want to come out, and I don’t.”

“Even if I do, too?” Harry asks, and when he looks up at Louis, Louis can’t help noticing that Harry just looks _young_.

Louis shrugs one shoulder and fixes Harry’s fringe. “You need to change your clothes, H. I’m gonna go pick El up and head over to the restaurant. I’ll see you later.”

“I’m sorry I looked,” Harry whispers. “Please don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you, stupid,” Louis says, and tugs at Harry’s hair. “But I’m not over-fond of you at the moment, either.”

Harry’s green eyes look even sadder and Louis sighs. He kisses Harry’s forehead. “I’ll see you at the restaurant, H.”

Dinner is less awkward than Harry would have hoped, but he realizes with a twist to his gut that it’s largely because they’ve all become such good actors, between performing for the press and performing for the public and performing for the fans, that performing for Millie isn’t too much of a stretch. Millie chatters incessantly about the _libarry_ Zayn took her to for the afternoon and how she got _eleventeen_ books about animals and did they know that cows sleep standing up?

“I did not know that, sweetie,” Louis says, and kisses the side of Millie’s head.

“Bee sleeps up, too,” Millie informs him, sauce all over her chin.

Harry gently wipes her face and tries to ignore Louis’ arm slung casually over the back of Eleanor’s chair. He knows it doesn’t _mean anything_ , but if Louis would still rather be seen with her than with Harry, it means _something_ and Harry just can’t figure out what and it hurts. “No, Millies don’t sleep standing up, silly bean. You’ll fall down and conk your head.”

Millie covers her head protectively, smearing sauce into her curls. “No hurt head.”

“Right,” Harry agrees. He lifts her hands and patiently cleans her fingers and dabs out her hair. “No hurting your head.”

“Sharks make big eggs,” Millie explains, nodding at Eleanor sagely. “Snakes can see with eyes closed!” She closes her eyes and hisses, _ssssssssssshh_.

“That’s true,” Eleanor says, surprising Harry. “Did you know, Millie, that alligators can live for a hundred years?”

When Millie opens her eyes in surprise, they could all swear that her pupils were _actually_ shaped like hearts. “Daddy! Muppie!” Millie begs, “I _love_ arrigators!”

“No, sweetheart,” Harry says gently. “They make terrible pets.”

Millie pouts and pushes some potatoes off of her plate and onto the floor in despair. 

That night, after Harry has read to Millie from one of her new library books about zookeepers and tucked her into her crib with her stuffed alligator (and a second iteration that they make terrible pets in real life), he kisses her ear and murmurs, “Happy almost-second-birthday, little bean. No matter how big you get, you’re always going to have me, alright?”

Millie nods sleepily up at him. “Daddy, Bee, and Muppie.”

Harry swallows and smiles sadly, then gives her chin a little chuck. “Now go to sleep, little girl. No trying to sleep like a cow, okay?”

Millie giggles and hugs the stuffed alligator, then rests her head on its snout like a pillow. “Muppie, please, Daddy.”

Harry flicks the lights in her room to signal to Louis that she’s ready for her good-night kiss. Harry heads into the bathroom ostensibly to brush his teeth but really to avoid the awkwardness of having to ask whether Louis will let him sleep in their bed tonight since, technically, it’s really Louis’ bed.

Harry hears Millie’s door shut while he’s flossing his teeth, and he glances carefully up at the reflection as Louis comes in behind him and strips off his shirt. 

Louis smiles at Harry in the mirror. “It’s weird t think two years ago, we were in the X Factor House.”

“Yeah, I miss it sometimes,” Harry says around the floss. “I hope the new crop are having as much fun as we did.”

Louis grins. His eyes don’t crinkle. “We did have fun, didn’t we?”

“D’you remember when you swapped Katie’s orange juice with her shampoo?” Harry asks, cracking half a smile. “I don’t remember why that was funny.”

“Are you kidding?” Louis asks, aghast. “It’s the perfect prank. Whichever she discovered first, it’d be funny. Shampoo for orange juice, funny. Orange juice for shampoo, funny.”

“I can’t remember which she did find first.”

“Neither,” Louis says glumly. “She smelt the soap before she poured a glass and figured it out.”

Harry laughs softly and tentatively reaches out to pat Louis’ waist. Louis leans into the touch, and slowly Harry sidles in for a hug.

Louis brushes his hand over Harry’s back. “Go ahead and get in bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

When Louis does get in bed, Harry immediately pastes himself against Louis’ back, spooning him almost fiercely, like if he doesn’t defend his spot, it will be taken away. Louis pats Harry’s arm consolingly and they’re quiet, not quite tired enough to fall asleep but not awake enough or happy enough for anything else.

Harry tries, really, not say anything and to let their argument be over. But the words bubble up in his chest before he can stop them.

“Louis?”

He doesn’t turn around; eyes closed against the pale glow of their bedside lamp, Louis knows what Harry’s going to say. He doesn’t want to have this talk. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

“Why don’t you… you don’t want to tell people we’re together?”

“No,” Louis whispers. “I don’t.”

He hears Harry’s breath rattle in the half-light between them, and Harry doesn’t touch. “Why?”

“Because.” Louis stares at the discarded bow tie hanging from their closet door. “I don’t. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Are you ashamed?” Harry asks, and Louis can hear that he’s asking _because you’re gay_ and not _of me_ , because if there is one thing that Harry has never doubted, it’s Louis’ affection for him and pride in him. As friends, as lovers, as parents, as musicians, as coworkers, Harry knows that it’s not _him_ Louis might be afraid that people will hate.

“No,” Louis whispers. 

This time, Harry moves closer. His lips brush the back of Louis’ shoulder, tingling over its wing. “Then why won’t you come out with me?”

“Harry.” Louis sounds tired. He is tired. “Do you remember how you said… you aren’t gay, but you’re gay for me? That’s not how it is for me. I’m just gay. To you, it would be coming out with Louis, and if it doesn’t work and we split or you meet someone who would – could be Millie’s mum, if… then that’s it. You came out with me. I’d just be coming out. And if we don’t work out, if you leave, or – whatever, then I’m still out. And it’s my choice, and I don’t want to come out. And that means I’m not doing it.”

“I don’t like that you don’t trust me,” Harry mutters. The weight on their mattress shifts as Harry rolls away and stands. Louis can hear him pulling on a pair of pajama trousers and rustling through their drawers for a spare blanket. 

Harry shuts off the light from their lamp on his way out of the room. He closes the door softly.

Louis lies awake in the dark for nearly an hour before he slides out of their bed and steps into his slippers to shuffle into the living room, where Harry is asleep on the couch. Louis sits down in the empty space left beside Harry’s feet, since the other boy is curled up on his side with his knees at his chest. Louis waits a moment before he shakes Harry’s hip.

Harry blinks in confusion before he focuses on Louis. 

“Here.” Louis hands Harry his iPhone. “This is why I’m not coming out.”

Harry lets out a sleepy, discomfited grumble-groan as the bright-white light hurts his head. When his bleary eyes can finally focus, he realizes he’s looking at a folder in Louis’ twitter mentions.

               _I love how **@Louis_Tomlinson** stares at **@Harry_Styles**. What a couple of faggots!  <3_  
               _ **@Louis_Tomlinson** i cant wait for you to move out of harrys apartment so he can get milly a mom_  
               _lol all of one derection are queermos but **@Louis_Tomlinson** is such a faggot_  
               _ **@Louis_Tomlinson** FUCKING COME OUT ALREADY YOU FUCKING FAGGOT AS LONG AS ITS WITH HARRY WE LOVE YA STUPID FUCKER_  
               _ **@Louis_Tomlinson** gay_  
               _WHAT? **@Louis_Tomlinson** is gay?!? NOOOO, BUT HE’S SO HOT :’C_  
               _ **@Louis_Tomlinson** needs to give up on turning harry into a fag and let him raise his kid right_  
               _I LOVE SASSY LESBIAN QUEEN **@Louis_Tomlinson**_  
               _ **@Louis_Tomlinson** when are you and **@Harry_Styles** going to come out? :)_  
               _I love **@Louis_Tomlinson** ’s faggy sailor shirts!_  
               _ **@Louis_Tomlinson** can only be gay if **@Harry_Styles** is his boyfriend_

Harry frowns. “Why did you save these?”

“Because even the fans who love _us_ don’t really… they love _us_. But without you, they wouldn’t love me. That’s why I don’t want to come out. And I don’t want to talk about it again, Harry.”

“Lou,” Harry says, sitting up so he can rest a hand on Louis’ thigh. “I get these, too, you know. I get more hate messages than the rest of you four combined, between being a poor singer – ”

“ _You’re not_ ,” Louis says fiercely. “You can’t help getting nervous sometimes.”

“And you can’t help being gay,” Harry says. “I could’ve helped not having a kid at sixteen, and that’s what I get the most awful messages for. I get them for ‘Larry Stylinson,’ too, it’s not just you. I mean, Louis, we don’t hide it well. And half those you saved aren’t really hate messages, it’s just people being stupid.”

Louis laughs dryly under his breath. “Obviously you didn’t really get called that much growing up.”

“I didn’t,” Harry admits. “But I get called it now. I don’t care, Louis. When they call me a bad dad, I care, because it affects Millie and it affects how I act ‘cause I want to prove I’m not. And when they call me a shit singer, I care because it affects the boys and it affects you and it changes how I act, even though I just keep fucking up.”

“You don’t,” Louis interrupts, so softly he’s barely speaking.

“But when they call me a faggot, Louis, I don’t _care_ ‘cause it doesn’t affect anything. It doesn’t make me act any different. And it wouldn’t, ‘cause I love you, and I don’t care what some random Baptist mother in Idaho or something thinks about it.”

“It does change how I act,” Louis says. “It changes how I feel. About myself. And about you. About the boys. Eleanor. Millie. It does matter to me. Because they’ll just argue that you were straight, you had to be to have a kid, and me being around was a bad influence and they’ll say I should keep away from Millie and – I would, I think, if enough people said it loud enough. Because I don’t want people to hurt you or her because of me.”

“Louis…”

“No, Harry. I’m not asking you to change my mind and I’m not even trying to change yours. I’m just showing you why I’m saying no. But I am saying no, and that’s it. I don’t want to come out. Not by myself. Not with you. I’m sorry.”

Louis swallows and stands. He bends down to kiss the crown of Harry’s curls and Harry wraps his fingers around Louis’ wrist – not to keep him there, but to hold him close. His thumb strokes over the blue line of Louis’ veins as Louis pulls away again and pads softly back to their bedroom. He leaves the door open a crack, slides into bed, and tucks his face against the pillows to sleep.

It only takes a few minutes before the door snicks shut and the mattress dips with Harry’s weight. This time, he cuddles in close against Louis right away, pressing kisses like reassurance into the column of Louis’ neck and down one shoulder to the ticklish, smooth babyskin at the back of Louis’ triceps. Harry bites down on it lightly, just once, and Louis reaches his hand back to grasp clumsily at Harry’s hip.

He gives it a squeeze and rolls a bit so Harry can mold himself into his back, matching up line for line and bone for bone. Harry’s huge hand splays flat over Louis’ chest to keep measure of his heart as they sleep to make sure that it doesn’t run away.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	20. Chapter 20

The publicity blitz for the second album doesn’t leave much time for either romantic reconciliation or toddler adventures. Millie accompanies them right onto the couch for their interview with Alan Carr because she’s so fraught with boredom and refuses to let Harry and Louis leave her backstage with only Paul to play with again.

“Glenlivet?” Alan offers, his eyebrows raised over the rims of his glasses at Millie where she’s swinging her legs, perched on Harry’s lap. “Capri Sun? Suntory? Ribena?”

“Juice,” Millie confirms, nodding her head. Harry pats her leg and she adds, “Please.”

The audience laughs as Alan gives her a juicebox with a straw wrapped in cellophane; Millie bats Harry’s hands away when he tries to open it for her and carries on by herself, struggling with the straw in both chubby hands with a look of intense concentration while Liam answers a question about the album’s new direction – pun not intended, as it’s Liam, but the joke flies anyway – and Niall explains the “rockier tone” with his own electric guitar on six of the tracks. 

Juice shoots everywhere when she finally stabs the straw into the box while Louis is responding to a question about target audiences and a forthcoming European tour turnout. 

“Oh, no!” Millie yells, covering her head. “Sorrisorry!”

“That’s alright, duck,” Alan assures her, handing out handkerchiefs so the boys can all dab themselves dry, although their outfits will all be fairly permanently stained by the red blackcurrant juice. “Vitamins A, C, and E are all good for the skin and hair. Or are they? Well, we’re all still alive, I think, although – Zayn, y’alright back there? Yeah? Oh, the girls’ll all be after me now I’ve ruined Zayn Malik’s quiff! Forget the girls, the _lawyers_ , the _police_ \-- ‘sir are you responsible for the flattening of Zayn Malik’s quiff – ah, yes, but – argh!’” he mimes being tazed and collapses in his seat, tongue lolling.

Millie giggles, and juice dribbles down her chin.

Louis leans over and pets the side of her head. “Alan’s funny, huh?”

Millie nods and claps her hands. “Yeah!”

“Now OFCOM’ll be on me arse, too!” Alan sits up and laughs himself, waving his hands at the camera while the audience split their sides. “That critical praise has not been paid for; ah, shit, we’ll deduct the Innocent Juice! Innocent is not a paid sponsor of this critical praise!” He covers his face with his hands as they all laugh. “Oh, I’ve ruined me with my own hospitality.”

After the commercial break, all of One Direction are in their backup outfits – and Millie in a clean dress with damp hair – in a new order on Alan’s couch. Millie is sat on Zayn’s lap this time, her legs draped over his thigh and crossed daintily at the ankle in her bright frog-print socks, and Harry has a dummy in his pocket just in case she gets cranky.

“So, Millie – I’m just interviewin’ Millie now,” Alan says, and snorts a long laugh with the audience. He holds up placating hands to Liam and the crowd and says, “Look, you’re One Direction, you have an album coming out, it’ll be brilliant, you’re all quite sexy in the news, blah blah blah, we understand all that but Millie! Millie, how old are you now?”

Millie beams. “Two years and one months.” She holds up corresponding fingers and the crowd _aww_ s.

“Two years and one month,” Alan repeats, “And what d’you do for a living?”

Millie frowns and cranes her neck up to look at Zayn inquiringly.

“What d’you like to do, Acchi?” Zayn translates, patting her knee.

“Dancing!” Millie explains. She budges herself up to rest her elbows on her thighs and her chin in her hands. “Food. Lizards. Reptiles. Amp’bee-ins. Zoo! Erm… books. Spanish. Unodostres! Urdu, muhje Urdu achchhi lagti hai!” She thinks for a minute and shakes her head, hands wide. “That is all.”

“That’s all, that’s more than I do in a month,” Alan says, and the audience chuckles. “I’m serious!” he expounds. “I mean I’m having a productive day if I do two separate poos and read a blog.”

“Bee potty,” Millie agrees, nodding sagely. “Wass hands.”

“I knew I was forgetting a crucial element!” Alan laughs. “And Millie, you’re the spokesgirl for a juice company, aren’t you? Do you like seeing yourself on telly?”

Millie nods and preens. “Bee pretty girl.” She grins and gnashes her front teeth together.

The audience _aww_ s again and Louis- and Harry’s hands meet as they both move to smooth down Millie’s wild, cowlicked hair. 

Alan smiles, and this time it seems genuine and mild, not mocking at all, and he says, “Well, boys, whatever you’ve done, she’s clearly a brainy and has whopping self-esteem. And that’s more’n most can say, innit?” The audience roars their approval and even as Alan monologues about his own childhood being walloped with newspapers to _prevent_ self-esteem, all charming self-effacement, Louis’ hand glances over Harry’s back and he smiles to his lap at the way Harry’s sitting just that bit straighter at the praise of how Millie’s turning out.

After the show – after Millie clinches their win in the perennial dance battle – Harry bundles Millie into her coat while she’s half-asleep in Louis’ arms. He kisses her hair and murmurs sympathy when she whines, and accepts her when Louis hands her over so he can put on his own coat. Harry cuddles Millie close to his chest with one arm and holds out the other hand to shake Alan’s.

“She really is a treat,” Alan assures him, patting his shoulder. “All the best luck and all that. It’s been great seeing things go well for you all; I’m rooting for you.”

Harry smiles as his cheeks flush. “Thanks.”

“You ready to go, H?” Louis asks, holding open the back door of the studio and letting cold November air rush in. “Cab’s waiting.”

Harry claps Alan’s shoulder a final time and clucks soothingly in Millie’s ear before turning to go. Once the door is shut, Louis’ hand finds its way onto Harry’s back beneath his coat but above the starched dress shirt, bleeding warmth. 

“Y’alright?” Louis asks softly, letting Harry slide Millie into the cab first. She curls up like a cat in the corner of the wide backseat, her little head rested on her arms. Harry laughs softly through his nose and smiles wistfully at the tiny little bundle of Millie; he rubs his hand over her back, soothing her sleep and making her snore.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Harry says, and smiles over his shoulder at Louis. “You alright?”

Louis closes the door of the cab and lets his hand rest over Harry’s thigh. “Yeah, I’m alright. I always like Alan. I’m glad he let Millie sit with us.”

“She’s so sleepy,” Harry laughs softly, and Millie bats at the air indignantly even with her eyes shut. “Little sweetie.”

“I mean, I think it’ll be good for you,” Louis says. “For people to see she’s still happy and how you’re a good dad and all the lads are fond of her, and all.” He snorts. “Her teaching Niall and Liam to do ballet will probably be a television highlight this week.”

“Well, that’s good, I guess,” Harry says softly as their car takes off down the dark street. “That way at least one of us can make some money if the album tanks.”

“It _won’t_ ,” Louis assures him. “Look, it’s gonna be great, and we’ll tour Europe a bit, and we can shag on the top of the Eiffel Tower and the Leaning Tower of Pisa and all those other towers, and it’ll be a good year.”

“I think the top of the Eiffel Tower is a restaurant,” Harry says dryly. “They frown on that.”

“Well, what they don’t know can’t hurt them.”

“Maybe we can play in America this year,” Harry ponders aloud, tapping his fingernails on the cold glass of the car’s window. “That other boy band, Big Time Rush, maybe they’ll need an opener or something.”

“Maybe,” Louis agrees amiably, and squeezes Harry’s thigh with his thumb. “Always good to have new goals.”

•••

What Harry and Louis quickly learn about the “terrible two’s” is that Millie isn’t moody or argumentative so much as she is _needy_. She can’t seem to go more than ten minutes without someone paying _express_ attention to her, and she tells long, rambling, nonsensical stories that are absolute lies, like, “Muppie? Today I seen four dragons, blue pink purple green, big big big! Its eat Luxie…” and on and on.

They’ve finally put away her snack baskets of biscuits because she’s developed a little bit of a gut, and cute as it is, 3AM Magazine were harping on her and Harry about it – and did a detailed photologue of Louis’ own little potbelly, which he was sad about until Harry convinced him again that it’s fairly sexy – and, after _long_ discussions with Anne and Jay and Gemma and even Eleanor and Lottie about how to handle this sort of criticism, because Harry suspected it to be a bit different for a little girl than a grown man, they’d moved the baskets of biscuits to higher shelves and encouraged Millie to ask (politely) for them, rather than graze all day. 

The change goes moderately well. She went a day or two without noticing much amiss, but on the third day –

“Ooph!” Harry grunts, falling over and just barely catching himself before landing on Millie where she lies across the doorway to the kitchen. “Bean! You shouldn’t lie in doorways like that.”

“I’m died,” Millie explains, and wriggles her toes. “I’m died of hungry.”

“I see,” Harry says thoughtfully as he pushes himself to sit. “What would you like to eat?”

“Fa _ji_ tas,” Millie begs, eyes still closed. “And cake. And guts.”

“It’s called icing, sweetie, not guts,” Harry corrects her gently. Millie cracks open one suspicious eye and regards him with mild interest. “And you can’t have fajitas right now, it’s half ten in the morning. D’you want some fruit?”

Millie’s mouth twitches. “Simmanin?”

“Sure,” Harry says, and bends down to kiss her forehead. “You can have some cinnamon on your fruit.”

Millie sits up. “Tay.”

“You’re alive!” Harry exclaims, and swings Millie up in his arms. He tosses her in the air twice and then blows a raspberry on her tummy. “It’s a miracle!”

“Fruit, please,” Millie just says imperiously. “With simmanin.”

Between constantly juggling Millie and having promotional interviews left and right for the album, Harry and Louis get scarcely a moment alone together. By the time night falls, they’re both so exhausted – and frequently shamefully sore from playing on jungle gyms and running around all day – that they manage, at most, a lazy handjob before falling asleep.

But finally, after weeks without a decent orgasm, they have their chance: after being followed around by Lux all day and taking great pains to teach the younger toddler Everything About Everything, Millie is so tired that she falls asleep right on the sofa with Pingu still tinkling on telly. 

Louis looks at Harry, then raises his eyebrows and glances from the sofa to their bedroom door.

Harry bites his lip and glances from the door to Millie and back again.

Then they both make a break for it and laugh under their breath as they run for the bedroom, skidding around dropped toys on the floor and hanging off each others’ elbows.

As soon as Harry shuts the door and clicks the lock, Louis pushes his hands up beneath Harry’s t-shirt and presses his lips to Harry’s mouth.

“Missed – you,” he mutters between kisses. “So… fucking… horny.”

“I love you, too,” Harry laughs, helping Louis pull the t-shirt up and over his head. He drops it in a heap on the floor and hums as he tilts his head back to give Louis more room to kiss his neck.

“Oh, fuck off,” Louis grumbles, pawing absently at Harry’s skin just to feel it. “You know I love you and that but _I tell you that every day and right now I just want you to fuck me through the bedframe_.”

Harry palms Louis’ arse hard, lifting him up so Louis has no choice but to wrap his legs around Harry’s waist, the hard bulges in their trousers pressing against each other as Harry carries Louis over to the bed and drops him down on it, giving him the barest second to unzip his jeans before crawling over Louis again and dropping kisses over Louis’ jaw.

“Take your shirt off, you dope.”

“No time,” Louis protests, and works his hands down to unbutton the fly of Harry’s jeans and push them down off his hips. “Come on, hurry up, get in me.”

“Jesus, Lou,” Harry laughs. “Calm your tits.”

“ _You haven’t seen my tits in two weeks_ ,” Louis hisses. “And they’re _not_ tits. I just got a belly.”

Harry snorts and pushes at the hem of Louis’ shirt until Louis grumbles and pulls his shirt over his head, too, and wriggles out of his jeans and pants for good measure. Harry licks his lip and kisses his way down Louis’ body, sucking a small kiss over the head of Louis’ cock, already leaking precome.

“Don’t tease, seriously, H,” Louis begs, tugging lightly on Harry’s hair. 

Harry kisses Louis’ hip. “Alright, alright. Romance is dead. I get it.”

“Not dead,” Louis assures him, “Just on a timetable.”

Harry smiles and leans over Louis to reach into the nightstand for lube and a condom; Louis bites Harry’s pec hard around his nipple, making Harry jump and squeak.

He lowers his eyebrows even as he lubes up his fingers. “Behave, you.”

Louis just groans so low and satisfied that it’s nearly a rolling purr, petting Harry’s arm and shoulder and chest and spreading his legs. Both he and Harry sigh as Harry slowly slides one finger into Louis, one knuckle after the other; Harry leans down and touches his mouth to Louis’ as he works his finger deeper. Louis keens and chases Harry’s lips, nipping.

“Yeah,” he pants after just a few minutes, “I’m good, I’m good. Just want you, Harry; I’m good.”

Harry pauses and drops a kiss on Louis’ flushed bottom lip. “You sure?”

Louis’ never needed as much prep as The Internet had made Harry expect, but it still seems like they’ve barely begun.

“Harry. Yes,” Louis promises, wrapping his hands around Harry’s hips. “I – might’ve got myself ready a bit earlier in the shower. Purely scientific reasons. Vital to national security.” Harry barks a laugh and his hands slip as he rolls the condom on; Louis covers Harry’s mouth with one hand and slides the other over Harry’s cock, rolling the condom the rest of the way. “Shut up. It was.”

Harry kisses the tip of Louis’ nose playfully as he holds Louis’ legs with both hands and pushes his way into him. It’s definitely tighter than usual, but Louis is just moaning softly in Harry’s ear, full of breath, and his fingernails run long pink lines up Harry’s back. 

Harry’s hand wraps around the slats of the headboard and his bicep bulges as he pulls himself up, getting more traction, getting more leverage over Louis as his hips snap fast and hard and deep and Louis’ breath huffs out until he’s chanting quietly beneath Harry, hands clenched into the ribbons of muscle banding Harry’s sharp hipbones to pull him closer and closer as he begs _Harryharryharryharryohplease_ fuck _Harry_ \--

And then the doorknob jiggles.

“Hey!” cries Millie’s tiny, indignant voice from just outside. “Door not open!”

“Are you _fucking_ kidding me?” Louis hisses on an exhale as Harry’s weight drops, heavy and deflated, down onto him.

“Are you alright, sweetie?” Harry calls back between gulps of air. “Did you need something?”

“I’m not door open!” Millie repeats, and the doorknob jiggles again. 

“Well, that’s funny,” Harry calls back. Louis rolls his eyes and Harry pinches his bellyfat in admonishment. “What did you need?”

“Door…” Millie sulks, and it sounds like she’s hanging her full weight from the doorknob now. “Food! You and Muppie ‘noring me!”

“We’re not ignoring you, little bean,” Harry assures her, pulling regretfully out of Louis and stumbling over to his pajamas. He pulls them up and grinds his teeth as the elastic catches on the swollen head of his persistent erection. Louis scowls up at him from the bed.

“What d’you want to eat?” Harry calls as he rummages around in the mess for his shirt.

“Roghan josh!” Millie decides, and grunts as she pulls on the doorknob again. There’s a clatter outside the door as she tumbles, evidently having indeed braced all of her weight into getting the locked door open.

“Fresh outta that,” Harry informs her mildly, finally getting the shirt on correctly. He tosses a pair of pajama pants at Louis and hisses, “Put these on, for fuck’s sake, Lou.”

Louis frowns up at him and reaches down to push petulantly over his cock. His eyes drift away from the door towards the nightstand and Harry tosses a shirt at him. 

“Don’t you dare get into that drawer, Lewis. We’ll just – finish it up tonight.”

“Are you serious?” Louis whines. “Harry, I’m dying.”

“You’re not dying,” Harry scoffs. “Get some trousers on so I can open the fucking door before she breaks it down! Or breaks her head.” He turns back to the door and raises his voice back up. “How about some rice porridge and fruit?”

“What fruit?” Millie asks suspiciously.

“Erm, I think we have some banana and some apples and maybe a mango?” Harry offers. He shakes Louis’ ankle and Louis grumbles. “ _Get fucking dressed_ ,” he hisses.

“I want grapes!” Millie demands. “Daddy… Muppie… you ghosts?”

“No, we’re not ghosts, stop being silly,” Harry sighs. “Okay, we can go to the supermarket and get some grapes. Run and get your wellies on.”

He hears Millie give the doorknob a last heave and then her heavy little feet trot along the floor as she scampers off to put on her boots. Harry waits a moment, then leans down over Louis on the bed again to give him a deep, promising kiss. Louis touches Harry’s face longingly and Harry smiles, lips brushing from Louis’ lower lip up over his top lip and to peck the end of his nose playfully.

“Later,” Harry whispers. “Later, I will fuck you so hard you can’t walk straight tomorrow.” Then he sighs and straightens up, cracking his back. “But, right now, we’re off to buy some grapes.”

Louis finally relents and pulls on the striped blue-and-white pajama pants, and fishes one of Harry’s big cable-knit sweaters out of the pile on the floor. “Grapes it is.”

•••

>   
> **LARRY STYLINSON ARE FRUITY**  
>  _THE LIVE-IN LADS MAKE SURE THEY GET IT IN FIVE-A-DAY_  
>  Thank goodness for Twitter, or we’d never know what the One Direction lads were up to anymore! Larry Stylinson superfan  Anna O. tweeted us this photo she snapped at work yesterday of the Tommo, Harry Styles, and Harry’s (adorable as ever) daughter Millie shopping for produce at a London Tesco yesterday.
> 
> _“They came in with brollies and wellies_ ,” Anna told us in an e-mail. “ _It deffo looked like Lou had on Harry’s sweater! They bought lots of fruit and some sausage rolls. The rain really picked up just as they were at my lane for checkout, so they let Millie eat in her trolley while they waited it out. She had food all over her face and is such a cutie! Harry was really sweet and signed my apron for me, but Louis was a bit grouchy_.”
> 
> Poor Louis. Getting dragged out in the rain just for some snacks when he could be lounging at home in Harry’s clothing must be a real chore. We’d cry if it were us.

•••

“Zayng,” Millie says thoughtfully, galloping alongside Zayn up the sidewalk and holding tight to two of his fingers, “Why… Urdu?”

“What?” Zayn asks, looking down at Millie. He plucks the cigarette out of his mouth and blows smoke from his nose. “Why do I speak Urdu?”

“Yes,” Millie clarifies. She frowns up at him. “No smoking, please.”

Zayn smiles wryly and stops short, making Millie bounce on her toes; he drops the cigarette and grinds it out with his heel. “Did your dad tell you to say that?”

“No,” Millie says, all wide eyes. “Cbeebies.”

“Ah,” Zayn says. “Well, you’re right. Smoking is very bad f’you, and you should never start.” He hauls her up in his arms and tosses her in the air, and Millie shrieks and giggles. “Right?”

“Tay!” Millie agrees, still giggling. Zayn holds her up and she grins so her nose wrinkles, and she pokes at his chin. “Prickly.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to shave,” Zayn agrees. “So, why do I speak Urdu?”

“Oh! Yes,” Millie says, having already forgotten her question. She sits contentedly in the basket of Zayn’s arms as he keeps carrying her up the street. There are a few photographers out following them, a constantly moving box around them as they go down the road; the new album, a new commercial airing – with the _corrected_ alphabet – and the Alan Carr dance-off had renewed interest in One Direction in the gossip rags. Add to that Harry Styles not having been spotted with a woman in nearly a year since Caroline Flack, and there seemed always to be paparazzi when any of them went out. Especially with Millie in tow.

“It’s because my dad and his dad, my granddad, and some of my cousins can speak it,” Zayn explains. “So me and my sisters learned.”

“My daddy no,” Millie points out, her face twisted with confusion. “Why?”

Zayn laughs. “Not _everyone_ ’s dad speaks Urdu. It’s not just, like, a dad thing. My dad’s family speaks it because before he was born, they came from another country and they speak Urdu there.”

“Pairs?” Millie asks.

“No, not Paris. They speak French there. It’s a country called Pakistan. It’s by India.”

“I no go,” Millie shrugs. “Why… Niall Spanish?” She thinks hard and her mouth twists further. “I’land Spanish?”

Zayn’s head falls back with his laugh. “No, they don’t speak Spanish in Ireland. Niall learnt at school.”

“Bee school?” Millie asks, bouncing a little with excitement. “I Cbeebies school. One, two, three, ten girls! One, two, three, six, erm, six boys! Teacher, books, animals. School, Bee? Please?” She pauses and shakes her head ruefully. “No Luxie can school. Luxie is baby.”

“That’s right,” Zayn agrees, pushing open the doors to the frenetic, kids-friendly restaurant he likes to take Millie to lunch at on Sundays when he watches her for a few hours so Harry and Louis can be alone together. “Lux is too small for school. You’re a bit, too.”

“No!” Millie argues. “Bee big girl! Bee affabet, shapes, numbers. Bee animals, food, Spanish. I can school!”

Zayn smiles softly at Millie as she heaves herself into the booster seat on her side of their booth. “You’re all ready for school, huh? I suppose you want to grow up and go away to Uni and live by yourself?”

Millie giggles and smushes her fringe out of her face. “No! I no cleaning. _No_ knifes. _No_ bakin.”

Zayn reaches into his pocket and produces the daisy-shaped hair clip he’d stolen from Perrie on his way out of the apartment; he leans over the table and gently helps Millie to fix her hair so it stops hanging in her face. “That’s right, little Acchi. No knives or ovens or else for you. I guess you’ll have to stay and play with me and Liam and Niall and Danielle and your dad and mup a bit longer, yeah?”

“And Ellador,” Millie corrects. “And Perrie Lilmix. And Lou. Lou Luxie daddy.”

Zayn frowns – has Harry not taught her the difference between a dad and a mum? Maybe Louis makes that a bit complicated – but doesn’t say anything. He orders their food, and he and Millie spend a bit of time blowing bubbles into their water through their straws. He launches into a dramatic retelling of the first _Star Wars_ for Millie, because she asks for a story, and Millie’s eyes go very round as she listens. She guzzles down her entire cup of water, then a second when their waiter refills it before their food arrives.

Later, Zayn will realize that he’d missed signs when Millie’s eyes get a little less round and she shifts in her seat. 

“Y’alright, Mills?” he asks, booping her nose across the table.

Millie purses her lips. “Yes. Go story.”

“Are you sure?” Zayn asks. “I can stop while you go potty if you need.”

Millie shakes her head obstinately. “Miss food. I hungry. No go.”

“They’ll still bring your food,” Zayn assures her, ruffling her hair. “D’you want to go?”

Millie stops for a moment, then nods frantically, looking like she might sob with relief. “Yes! Please! Down, fast?”

“Alright, alright,” Zayn says quickly, crossing their table to help her out of her booster seat and down from the booth’s bench. He can see the photographers still waiting like black bugs through the restaurant’s big picture windows. “You’re okay.”

“Gogo!” Millie begs, pushing past Zayn’s legs and holding down the front of her dress desperately as her short, chubby legs make a run for the restrooms at the back of the restaurant. She weaves around two waitresses carrying full trays and Zayn apologizes profusely, sliding around them with glimmering celebrity smiles to try and keep up with Millie –

And when he finds her, she’s sobbing just in front of the ladies’ room door, her dress and legs all wet.

“Shit,” Zayn whispers under his breath, then swoops down to kneel at her eye-level. “It’s alright, sweetheart,” Zayn soothes her. “Come on up, let’s get you home to some dry clothes.” 

He kisses her forehead and stands, holding out his arms to beckon her up.

Millie hesitates, her lip still quivering. “You be dirty.”

Zayn smiles at her and taps her nose. “That’s alright. Do you know, the very first time I ever babysat you, when you were a little tiny baby, you threw up all over me?” He makes a face. “It’s better than that, yeah?” He reaches out his arms but doesn’t touch her, just in case she’s still skittish or embarrassed. “Come on up.”

Millie’s face crumples and she rushes into Zayn’s arms. He lifts her up and she tucks her face into his neck, hiding the way Harry’s taught her for cameras and shouting. She keeps crying, nose and eyes wet all over his neck and the rest of her dress damp all over his arm where he’s holding her up, but Zayn just shushes her softly in English and in Urdu and his free hand rubs circles over her back. He brushes his lips over the side of her face and apologizes softly to the restaurant hostess – and slips her a £40 for the mess and her silence. She smiles at him and asks if he wants their food boxed, but he says no, thanks, they’ll come back another time.

Outside the restaurant, the paparazzi descend, snapping photos and yelling –

“What happened?”

“Look here, Millie, pick your head up, girl!”

“Zayn – look here – Zayn, Millie!”

One grisled, paunchy, thin-ankled older guy steps right up in their faces. “She weed herself!” he cackles. He lifts his camera and takes photos entirely too close, trying to get a good focus on Millie’s red-faced crying into Zayn’s neck. Zayn hears rushing in his ears as the paparazzi gathered around like magpies all laugh and move closer. 

Grisled lets his flashbulb blind Zayn a second. “You know what they say about that?” he asks. “It’s a sign of abuse, when a kid wees themself.” He tilts the camera to try to get a better angle on Millie’s wet dress. “Knew there was something wrong with that fruit Tomlinson living with a kid.”

Zayn can’t think. Millie is still hacking sobs on his shoulder, almost gagging she’s crying so hard, this tiny helpless, guileless thing, and he just wants to get her home to her dad and Louis _who love her_ and are _so_ good to her and he knows, he can _see_ , the bullshit that will end up in the Daily Mail if this guy gets his paycheck –

So Zayn’s arm snaps out and he grabs the camera out of Grisled’s hands. He cracks it open, pulls out the memory card, and drops it. He grinds it under his heel like an old cigarette butt, and tosses the camera into the gutter. “ _Fuck off_ ,” he warns. “ _Leave ‘em alone_.”

Immediately, it’s clear that this was a poor course of action. “That’s a £7000 camera… towelhead Paki faggot,” Grisled swears, his face going purple. The other cameras are all whirring at high speed, trying to capture every frame of their faces, every pore. 

The guy puts his hands on Zayn. He grabs onto Zayn’s arm – the arm holding Millie up – and twists, incoherent; Millie’s sobs increase in pitch and volume and she clings tighter onto Zayn’s neck as the pap’s jerking makes her slip in Zayn’s grasp –

So Zayn doesn’t think.

He cuffs the guy in the eye with his free fist. 

It’s not that hard, but Grisled staggers back, holding his face, screaming racial slurs and promises to sue. And Zayn knows: they _are_ promises, especially with all of the photographic proof from the six other photographers still catcalling and jeering in a circle around them and the lookieloos with camera phones filming from the boundaries.

“Hey, Acchi?” Zayn whispers in Millie’s ear, tucking his mouth right up to her head, “We’ve got to find a cab now, okay, and I’m gonna drop you off with your dad and mup.”

“Yes!” Millie sobs, squeezing Zayn a little tighter. “No splashes, please?”

“I know you hate the camera flashes,” Zayn murmurs, and pushes his way forward to the road. Grisled is on a mobile, barking and frothing at someone – presumably his lawyer – and Zayn gives the camera in the gutter one last good kick just because he’s so pissed off that any of this happened at all. _Who mocks a baby?_ “We’re almost home.”

“Yes, home,” Millie begs, and she wipes her nose on the shoulder of Zayn’s shirt. “I sorrisorry.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Zayn promises, rubbing her back again. His hand aches something fierce. Maybe that punch was harder than he’d thought. “You don’t need to say you’re sorry.”

He manages to catch a cab and slides into the backseat, guarding the back of Millie’s head with his hand when they duck in, and keeps rubbing her back. After her crying has calmed and she’s breathing normally, rubbing her running nose all over his shoulder and coughing a bit sometimes as she tries to catch her breath, Zayn pulls his mobile from his pocket and puts through three texts: one to Harry, one to Louis, and one to Liam.

 _headd back . . . . m had accidnt , dress wet , upset ! x_ he sends Harry and Louis.

To Liam he writes, _i punched a pap . . . . call jones 4 me ? x :( sorry_

When they arrive at the building, there’s another barrage of paparazzi outside, clearly having heard about the meltdown. Zayn holds Millie close, clucking in her ear, and they make their way in through the front door. Harry and Louis are waiting for her just inside.

“Sweetheart,” Harry wheedles, running his hand over her back and up into her sob-sweaty curls. He peppers kisses over the back of her arm where it’s still clutched around Zayn’s neck. “It’s okay. It’s alright. Let’s get you upstairs into the bath, okay?”

Millie latches a bit tighter onto Zayn’s neck for a moment, then nods miserably and turns to let Harry pluck her out of Zayn’s arms. 

Harry kisses her forehead. “Oh, sweetie.”

Millie’s lower lip quivers. “I – mistake.”

“That’s okay,” Louis promises her, running his finger over her arm. He lets Millie’s hand clamp onto his thumb like when she was a baby, and he tries a smile at her. He kisses her fingers, then looks up at Zayn with big eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses and smiles sadly. “Thanks, Z. You’re really the best one.”

Zayn smiles, tight-lipped, as his mobile buzzes insistently in his pocket. “It’s really no problem.” He nods toward Millie, who’s buried her face in Harry’s chest now. “Take care of her.”

“Zayng,” Millie whimpers, and reaches out for him. “Thank you -- helping. I sorrisorry.”

Zayn ruffles her hair gently and cups her round little head in his palm for a moment, steeling himself. “It’s okay, little Acchi. I told you, no apologizing for this. I’ll see you tonight if you want.”

Millie’s deep pout quavers again. “Yes, Bee – Zayng – yes.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Zayn promises, and ruffles her hair again. 

“Come on, littlest bean,” Harry murmurs, and Zayn watches the knot of HarryLouisAndMillie make their way into the elevator.

Zayn closes his eyes and sighs after the doors shut, and he picks up his mobile to Liam rambling frantically at what he had supposed to be Zayn’s voicemail. “I know, I know, I know,” Zayn says, heading Liam off at the pass, “But I had a good reason, and it was for Millie? And Harry and Lou?” He sighs. “Yeah, I’ll come up.”

•••

In the end, Zayn pleads no contest to criminal damage to property, paying a small fine and replacing the pap agency’s camera equipment; the charge of assault goes to court in a much-publicized trial – in no small measure because Modest! and Syco, along with Simon Cowell himself in support of his top act, file a counter-charge of Cruelty to Persons Under Sixteen in the photographer’s harassment of Millie and, they claim, intent to cause physical harm in making her fall from Zayn’s arms, prompting the act of self-defense and defense of a third person.

Zayn gets an ASBO and has to perform 50 hours of community service “in any charitable act for the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.” One Direction record a single for Comic Relief and Zayn spends more time than the others at Rays of Sunshine, and that’s all finished.

The scandal propels their second album to a soaring #1 on the chart for five straight weeks, and – in a strange stroke of the marketing genius that’s made Simon Cowell such a rich man – he, with the rest of the Syco and Modest! stables of artists and the boys’ other powerful friends and allies, like Radio1, embark on a crusade for enacting tougher paparazzi laws for minors in the UK. It gains momentum frighteningly quickly, with Sienna Miller – who had previously won an injunction against the paparazzi – championing the sanctions in honor of her new daughter Marlowe, and mega-author J.K. Rowling, who had been a part of the News of the World inquest, wrote an impassioned plea in the paper in favor of the act.

(“This is about the most brilliant thing that’s ever happened to me,” Zayn confesses, embarrassed and giddy over Liam’s dining table one evening. “I inspired J.K. Rowling. Well, sort of. And not because I did something particularly good. But. _I’m a wizard now_.”)

Harry, for his part, largely keeps Millie inside. She’s a bit sullen because she can tell something is wrong, but she’s young enough to bounce back fairly quickly from her humiliation. There were a few days that Harry or Louis had seen her examining the package of nappies that Lou Teasdale keeps at their flat for Lux, and they worried that she might regress from the stress, but instead they’d found her stuck to the nappy’s tapes as she tried valiantly to wrap up her stuffed alligator.

“Arrigator mistake,” she explains, flapping her hands to try to dislodge herself. “I more big. No baby. No nappies.” She pauses. “Yes mistakes. But Bee is good.”

After the United States press begins to take notice of the debate and inquiry – all traced back to Zayn Malik of One Direction and Millie Styles, the toddler daughter of teenage bandmate Harry Styles – the international recognition of 1D soars. Suddenly, Louis realizes one day when he’s out by himself just to buy juice and some sausage rolls and is, as is custom now, being trailed by a _vicious_ paparazzo hellbent on angering Louis for endangering his livelihood, One Direction are _actually famous_. Famous enough that adults in most shops know his name and face. Famous enough that there’s an editorial about just how long it’s been since he was photographed last with Eleanor, and speculating on _ulterior motives_ for One Direction to be anti-paparazzi.

Louis finds, as much to his own surprise as anyone else’s, that he doesn’t care. He buys his juice, and an imported copy of _People_ , and sausage rolls and brings them home to Harry and Millie, the girl of the hour.

“Muppie!” Millie cries, and runs up to him. She cuddles her face against the side of his calf. “Muppie is home!”

“That’s right, little bean,” Louis agrees, and pats Millie’s head. “And I’ve got your food.”

“Pisketti?” she asks, clapping her hands. “Tortorinni?”

Louis gives her a confused stare and busts up laughing. “No, goofy-face. I got you a sausage roll and some juice.”

“Mmm, juice!” Millie enthuses, and bounces her way over to the kitchen, laughing. “Bee, the juice girl!”

“That’s right,” Louis hears Harry say absently from the kitchen. “That’s what the telly and radio call you. Millie, the juice girl.”

“Mmm!” Millie squeals, and there’s a flumping sound like she’s crawling all over Harry for attention. “Mmm, Bee!”

Harry laughs and it makes Louis smile as he toes out of his shoes and heads to the kitchen with the bags. “Are you delicious? Do you provide healthy vitamins A, C, and E?”

“Yes!” Millie shrieks with laughter, and Louis grins as he comes into the kitchen and sees her hanging upside-down from Harry’s arms, giggling happily while Harry tickles her.

Louis’ chest warms as he looks at them playing, at the smile on Millie’s face and the softness in Harry’s eyes. He hasn’t been photographed with Eleanor in three months now, since before Millie- and Zayn’s incident with the paparazzi, and – although he hasn’t told Harry yet, or Jones, or anyone – he doesn’t really plan on it. It’s 2013. A new year. Even if it’s not the sort of all-out bravery that Harry wants, quiet courage is enough for Louis in himself if it means that he gets to keep this happiness.

Louis sets the bag of food down on the counter and leans over the back of Harry’s chair so he can kiss Harry’s upturned mouth. He tastes like tea and toothpaste, all homey and warm and _Harry_.

“Hey,” Harry says after the light kiss, eyes still sparkling as Millie races around the kitchen making strange siren noises.

“I love you,” Louis answers, his eyebrows lowered and blue eyes soft and serious behind his black-framed glasses. 

Harry smiles up at Louis and touches Louis’ cheek, his thumb swiping once over the cut of his cheekbone and the soft fuzz of his beard stubble, four days unshaven. “I love you, too.”

“Hello!” Millie yells from the corner, where she’s playing with her toy kitchen set. “Noring me! Food time!”

“Oh, yes,” Louis exclaims, swooping over to pick her up and tickle her. “How could we possibly ignore you?”

“I don’t know!” Millie says. “Bee very cute.” She cups her chin in her hands and smiles winningly while Louis rolls his eyes.

•••

>   
> **British Invasion: Stars Flock to London as Paparazzi Laws Tighten in UK**  
>  _Celebrities will now have to sign approval forms on photos taken in the UK, paparazzi barred from subjects under 16 years old_
> 
> What do Katherine Heigl’s daughters, the Brangelina brood, and Blue Ivy Carter have in common? They’re all new residents of London’s exclusive Primrose Hill neighborhood! Thanks to a three-month inquiry spearheaded by entertainment mogul Simon Cowell (American Idol, The X-Factor, Britain’s Got Talent), paparazzi laws have tightened up in the UK – and celebabies are now off-limits!
> 
> “It’s imperative that we recognize the difference between celebrities and the children of celebrities,” Cowell tweeted in December. “These young children are children and deserve safety.”
> 
> If Cowell, who coached youngster Rachel Crow, then 13, on the first season of The X-Factor: USA seems an unlikely champion of anything anti-publicity, then it’s important to realize that he does so to support another of his X-Factor acts: a UK boy band outfit called One Direction, who placed third on the UK version of the show in 2010. One Direction band member Harry Styles, now 18, is the single father of Millie Styles, 2, who provided the springboard for the UK inquest after being harassed by a paparazzo in November 2012. 
> 
> Another member of One Direction, Zayn Malik, 20, has been locked in a legal battle with the paparazzo in question since the November incident and has been branded with community service. 
> 
> “[The paparazzo, Georg Malefacio] was shouting abuse at Millie, trying to scare her or embarrass her, and like, I don’t think that’s right he did that,” Malik said to a UK magazine in December. “She’s a baby, she’s two years old, and she isn’t famous. Her dad’s famous, but she’s just a baby. So he was trying to get Millie to react for a picture to write something bad about Harry, and that’s just wrong too because like Harry [Styles] is such a good dad? 
> 
> “So I was holding Millie and I took his camera, took the thumb drive and I threw the camera across the street. He got mad and started like pulling on my arm, the arm Millie was in, and he was going to hurt her, she’d fall and get hurt, so I just popped him one to get him off her.”
> 
> How does the so-called “Millie’s Law” affect celebs? They will have to sign permission forms for the release of any photos taken of them in the UK, just as in France, Germany, and Norway. Photos taken of children under 16 are forbidden except at red carpet events (or sanctioned public events like soccer games), so many famous families including Tori Spelling and her household, Katie Holmes & Suri Cruise, and Jessica Simpson and daughter Maxwell have made the jump across the pond.
> 
> Other stars, like Lindsay Lohan and Robert Pattinson, have taken advantage of the law by accessorizing with friends’ babies when they head out and about in the Queen’s hometown!
> 
> YOUR REACTION? VOTE NOW! Wow! LOL ♥ :( >:{  
> 

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	21. Chapter 21

“But Daddy!”

“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Harry tries vainly to soothe Millie, petting down her soft hair and gently wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “We can’t bring Bobo on tour with us.”

“But Bobo is mine!” Millie’s lower lip pokes out and quivers. Her huge green eyes look the size of the moon as she stares up at Harry. “I love him!”

“I know, sweetiebean; I’m _sorry_ ,” Harry promises, rubbing her shoulder. “But he can’t come on a plane, and he can’t just live in the flat by himself for five months. He would starve.”

“We can crickets on the floor!” Millie suggests earnestly. “He crawl… eat them. Mmm!”

“No, sweetie,” Harry says, a bit more firmly. “We’ve got to give him to Lux, okay?”

Millie scowls, her nose pink. “Luxie no. She no food him good.”

“ _Feed_ , sweetie,” Harry corrects her gently. “And it’s better Lux has him to feed than let him starve, right?”

Millie sniffles. “No tour, please. Mine pet is mine for potty.”

“I know you tried really hard and earnt him for using the potty, but we have to go on tour again.” Harry ruffles her hair. “We’ll have fun in America. I promise. And when we come home, you can visit Bobo all the time at Lux’s house, okay?” 

Millie’s mouth twists down. “We _always_ tour. I want school and Bobo and mine big-girl bed!”

“You’re too small for school still, sweetheart,” Harry says apologetically. “When you’re three years old, you can go to school. Maybe. We’ll see. Probably not. But we’ll see. Okay?”

Millie scowls and rests her cheek on her fist. “I can school,” she grumbles. “Bee letters, numbers, Spanish, animals, potty, Urdu, dancing, books. Bee can school. More girls.”

Harry kisses her forehead. Her curls fly up and tickle his nose. “And you can have a big-girl bed on tour. Okay? You can have your very own big-girl bed in our room.”

“Mine own room,” Millie bargains. “Bee big girl. Money, please! Eggstirbakin!”

“I know you’re a big girl, but you can’t have your own room,” Harry says, and swings Millie up to carry her on his shoulders. She shrieks in surprise and grasps his hair hard, yanking on it for balance. Harry winces, then pats her leg. “And you cannot have money and order room service. Even Niall can’t have his own room, right? He has to share with Liam or Zayn.”

“I share Zayn!” Millie cries, clucking her heels against Harry’s armpits. “I share him room!”

“No, no.” Harry rubs her chubby calf. “You’re gonna share with Muppie and me.”

Millie’s sharp little elbows dig into the top of Harry’s head as she sighs heavily and affects a pose of deep disgruntlement, resting her chin on her hands and her elbows on his head. She kicks her chubby feet and her heels collide with Harry’s chest, making him _ooph_ and grab hold to her calves, tickling a bit with his thumbs to make her stop. They head for the front door, but just before opening it, Harry halts.

“Millie, do you need to go potty before we get in the car?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, lifting her down from his shoulders to carry her on his hip. She wouldn’t be able to fit through the door sitting up that high anyway; they’ve both grown too much.

“I sure!” Millie insists, patting Harry’s neck. “Bee _very_ big girl.”

“Okay, sweetie,” Harry says, and playfully bites her nose. Millie shrieks and giggles, eyes shining, and burrows closer into Harry’s arms. “Do you have everything you want for the airplane ride?”

“I use Muppie iPad,” Millie assures him. Then her eyes widen and she throws out her arms. “Hold! Mine purse! Need. Big girl Bee, pretty purse. Downdown!” She pauses as Harry gives her a significant look with his eyebrows raised. “ _Please_.”

“Okay,” Harry assents, and sets her down. Her chunky legs go tearing off into her room and there’s a flumping sound as she tosses things aside, looking for the big plastic purse Perrie had bought her for their trip. 

When Millie comes back, there’s a gooey mess of pink-tinted chapstick around her mouth and the enormous green purse over one shoulder. “Tay!”

Harry smiles down at her and she’s halfway lifted back up into his arms when she yells, “Hold!” one more time, and Harry sets her down so she can run pell-mell into the bathroom. He rolls his eyes, holding her oddly heavy purse, and taps his foot against the doorframe as he waits for her. He shakes her purse experimentally and frowns when it rattles, so he looks inside.

“Bean!” Harry calls. “You can’t bring this many barrettes with you on the plane. They’ll spill everywhere. And why’ve you got a _torch_ in here?”

“No talking now!” Millie yowls from behind the door. Harry huffs and waits for her to come out, drying her hands on the sides of her dress. She surveys him primly from under her eyelashes. “Torch no dark. No dark, please.”

“It won’t be dark on the plane, sillybean,” Harry promises, and sets her torch on the coffeetable. “Now let’s empty this out and go, okay?”

Millie insists on taking everything out of her purse one by one, arguing its necessity, and kissing it tenderly before agreeing to leave it home. Harry sits patiently on the floor as she goes through dozens of barrettes, three library books he puts in his own satchel to return on their way to the airport, the nightlight from the bathroom, some loo paper, a handful of crumbled biscuits, and a banana. He lets her keep the banana, puts the biscuits in a bag and lets her keep those, and reminds her three times with promises and kisses that they’ve already packed her nightlight and won’t let it be too dark in the hotel.

Harry pats her cheek. “Ready to go?”

Millie pouts for a moment, glancing at her belongings on the table and sniffling once, then seems to steel herself and stands straighter. “Yes. Bee can now.”

“Okay,” Harry says gently, and stands. This time, he just holds out his hand and lets Millie choose whether she wants to grasp it. She shoulders her purse, straightens her shoulders, shakes out her curls and puts her chin in the air, then takes firm hold of two of Harry’s fingers.

“Let’s gogogo now, Daddy.”

Harry gives her hand a little squeeze. “Okay, little bean. You lead the way.”

•••

The thing about causing some upheaval in the manner that tabloids in the United States can do business with some of their biggest-selling stars – Brangelina, Katie Holmes, Beyonce and Jay-Z, Gwen Stefani, Gwyneth and Chris – is that the niggling cog tends to become famous in the United States by default. Suddenly, tween magazines are running photos of One Direction and Millie with staggering regularity – and sometimes, even with mentions that they’re a band and have music. _Up All Night_ and the new album are released simultaneously on the US iTunes and incredibly, they hit the top 10.

The boys and Millie head to Los Angeles in late January to film guest spots on an episode of the Nickelodeon programs iCarly and Big Time Rush parodying their own paparazzi misadventures; it airs as a two-parter that sees One Direction as a boy band performing for Sam- and Carly’s show on iCarly and trying to sabotage Big Time Rush by working as paparazzi-slash-spies in the second half hour. Millie plays herself as a tiny tot megastar with big, jeweled sunglasses and a feather boa, which she loves and refuses to take off even between takes. They open for Big Time Rush on a short tour after that through March and April and end with a few weeks’ holiday in New York City.

Thanks to Millie, the juice company is able to expand to test US urban markets and Millie’s commercials start to air in the United States, too. Her personal bank account inflates almost as much as the boys’ do, and Harry works with Anne, Paul, and executors in London and New York City to figure out how much of her earnings to set aside as a trust fund. He puts his own excess money into an inheritance account and makes out an official will leaving almost everything to Millie and a bit to his mum and to Gemma, and Louis cries a little because it’s such a depressing thought.

“It’s just a precaution,” Harry assures him, kissing Louis’ hair. “Not like I don’t think she’d be taken care of, but like… I just want to make sure my mum’s got enough that she doesn’t have to use her own money for anything for Millie, ever. Basically. Not if I’ve got it.” He nuzzles into the back of Louis’ neck. “I just want to be able to take care of her. Prove I could do it myself.”

Louis is quiet, presses his lips together and tucks his face against the pillow. It’s a fight that’s been brewing in his gut for months, but Louis just wants to avoid it. After all, it’s clear to him that after everything, Harry still sees Louis as disposable in Millie’s life. 

“I’d’ve left some to you, but we’ll probably always have the same money,” Harry says, and squeezes Louis’ ribs. “Or you’ll have more. You can do acting and iCarly proved I can’t.”

Louis finally laughs at that and rolls over to bite at Harry’s collarbone. “You were worse on Big Time Rush.”

After New York City, they’re set to open for Olly Murs on his first national tour of the United States, May to July. It’s their first tour on an actual bus since Millie was still quite tiny – not that she’s all that big now at two and a half – and Harry has to remind Millie over and over that she needs to let Liam and Niall and Zayn have some time with only grown-ups, not Millies.

Pulling into Toronto, Canada, Niall wakes very early and rubs his hands over his face, wondering why the sunrise is so bright. He glances over at the window and realizes that it’s bright because his bunk’s curtain is open, and he’s certain he closed it when he was falling asleep. He always does.

“Hiya.”

Millie levels Niall with a contemplative look over the side of his bunk. Her chin rests on his mattress and Niall blinks sleepily, wondering in wispy, half-awake brushes of thought whether he’s about to be reamed out for saying or doing something in his sleep that might scar the little thing for life. 

“Sometimes, I think you’re a wombat,” Millie tells him solemnly.

Then she flits away, singing “Want U Back” and taking great pride not to slur the _shit_ s, through the door back to the main room and breakfast.

Niall blinks for several long minutes of confusion before he gets out his phone to Google wombats.

Lou Teasdale and Lux fly out to visit them for a while starting in Toronto, since they’ll have a few nights in hotel to get used to the time difference before heading back onto the bus. Millie is _very_ overexcited to get Lux at the airport and climbs all over Harry and Louis and Paul, who goes along for security, screeching like a monkey while they wait in the van outside the luggage carousels. After they arrive, Millie patiently spends the next two hours teaching Lux how to play Miss Mary Mack.

That night, after she kisses Lux on the head and murmurs _night night, small baby_ , Louis carries Millie off to their own room where she has, as promised, her own trundle bed.

Millie looks thoughtful while Louis helps her brush her teeth, and she tries to talk around the brush.

“Hold on, bean, spit first,” Harry Louis. “I can’t understand a word you said.”

Millie looks disparaging, but waits for Louis to finish brushing her teeth and lift her up to spit into the tall sink. With her mouth still foamy, Millie looks up at Louis’ reflection and asks, “Luxie is mine sister?”

“No, sillybean. You don’t have any sisters,” Louis says, and tickles Millie’s belly. She giggles and grins and kicks her legs until Louis sets her down and, for solidarity, moves to brush his own teeth. 

Once her wits are gathered from the tickling, Millie frowns. “No fair! Everybody else got sisters. Daddy, Auntie Gemma sister. You, Lottie-Fizzy-Daisy-Peebee sisters. Zayng, three sisters. Lou, one sisters. Liam, two sisters. Danielle, one sisters. Perrie, one sisters. Why no Bee sisters?”

Louis spits and rinses his mouth. He rounds on Millie and lifts her up so she can sit in the basket of his arms, frowning at him. “Because you’re the only baby your daddy’s had. So you have no sisters.”

Millie’s frown deepens. “Why?”

“Why what, bean?”

“Why no Daddy babies more?” She thwacks Louis on the shoulder impatiently. “I want sisters.” Then she scowls. “Bee no baby. Bee big girl.”

Louis holds Millie’s small hand and admonishes softly, “Don’t hit. And I _know_ you’re a big girl.” He kisses Millie’s fingers. His throat feels tight again and he tries to suppress the urge to cough. “Maybe someday your daddy will have more babies and you can have a sister.”

“Good idea!” Millie enthuses, and pats Louis’ mouth. “I want one, two, tres, four, six sisters.”

“Six sisters?” Louis exclaims, willing himself to smile and toss Millie in the air to make her shriek. “That’s more’n I got! You’re not allowed to beat my record on having sisters.”

“Yes!” Millie cheers. “More for Bee!”

Louis swings her down in a low dip and she keeps laughing, so Louis sets her down on the floor and her knees buckle from cracking up, so he leaves her sitting on the floor in the bathroom in her fuzzy red pajamas. Harry is sitting at the table in their suite’s living room, absently drawing either an elephant or a very obscene orchid in Draw Something! for his turn against Tom Atkin; Louis kisses the back of Harry’s head and gives himself a moment to breathe and take in the warm, soapy, evergreen-citrus smell of Harry and hotel shampoo. 

Harry hums and reaches back to rest his steady hand against Louis’ hip, thumb rubbing gently until it finds its way under the hem of Louis’ t-shirt and strokes warmly at the hollow of Louis’ hip. “Hey, boy.”

Louis just rubs Harry’s shoulder. “Hey, boy, yourself. Bean’s ready to get tucked in.”

Harry stands and his back cracks as he yawns and stretches his arms over his head. He catches Louis in a warm, close hug as he lowers them, letting his hands slide down Louis’ back until they’re resting just over the slope of Louis’ arse, the pads of his fingers just barely stroking over the dimples at the base of Louis’ back. He nuzzles at Louis’ nose with his own until Louis smiles softly and tilts his face up to accept a kiss; Harry makes a quiet, contented noise as he sucks at the bow of Louis’ lip and lets the tip of his tongue _just_ touch Louis’ row of crooked bottom teeth.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, blinking his eyelashes against Louis’ cheekbone in a butterfly kiss. “I love you.”

Louis swallows again and looks up at Harry shyly from beneath his eyelashes. He runs his hands over Harry’s arms. They’ve filled out since Harry started working out with Liam, and besides the ‘Hi’ in Millie’s handwriting, Harry’s collected an ‘A’ for his mum and an iced gem biscuit for Gemma, for which Louis laughed at him until he had tears in his eyes. Louis isn’t represented yet on Harry’s arm, but that’s alright. “Love you, too. I do.”

Harry’s eyes light up and he tightens his hands over Louis’ arse as he nips another quick kiss to his lips. 

Harry heads into the bedroom to tuck Millie into her bed. She looks completely dwarfed by the twin-size trundle, and he smiles at her tiny, chubby face and messy halo of brown curls peeking up from the sheets. Her trusty, threadbare stuffed alligator peeks up from the blankets, too, and Harry gamely kisses both her head and its snout.

“Daddy?” Millie pipes, yawning until her nose wrinkles. She shakes her head in surprise and Harry chuckles. “You have more babies, please, now.”

Harry blinks. “What?”

“Daddy have babies… Bee gets sisters!” Millie explains earnestly. “I want sisters, Daddy.”

Harry sits down on the edge of her bed and brushes her hair back from her face. She yawns again and her eyes roll a little when she opens them. “I’m not gonna have more babies, sweetie.”

“Why not?” Millie sounds affronted. “I _need_ a sisters.”

“Why d’you need sisters, little bean?” Harry lies down beside her, over the blankets, and Millie wriggles over beneath them so she can tuck her head under Harry’s chin.

“’Cause everybody got sisters but me…” she rests her head on the alligator like it’s a pillow. 

“Niall doesn’t have any sisters,” Harry points out. “He’s got a brother. What if you had a brother?”

“Nayyol is brother,” Millie says sleepily, smacking her lips. 

Harry laughs, his eyes crinkling shut. “Niall’s your brother? How d’you figure?”

“Nayyol… ‘noying,” Millie explains on a third yawn, her voice almost cutting out. “Telly… brothers ‘noying.”

Harry tries to talk through holding his breath to keep the giggles at bay. “Niall’s your brother because brothers are annoying? I see. Well, forget about siblings now and go to sleep, little bean.”

Millie snuffles and turns her face into the crocodile’s worn green velveteen. “Tay. Ni-night, daddy.”

“Good night, little bean,” Harry murmurs, and bends down to kiss her ear.

Harry switches on her nightlight in the wall socket and shuts the door softly as he heads back out to the suite area to cuddle with Louis for a bit before they need to go to sleep in the other bed, very silent so as not to wake Millie – who sleeps like a skittish animal and wakes at the slightest chance that there might be some excitement that she could miss.

Louis smiles at Harry from the little kitchenette and pours water from the percolater into two mugs. “There’s no kettles in America,” he says. “Shameful.”

Harry rests his head back against the door and lets out his laugh finally, trying hard to keep it quiet. His eyes sparkle when he surveys Louis and the mugs of tea. “D’you know Millie thinks Niall’s her brother because she finds him annoying and that means he’s her brother?”

Louis has to laugh at that, too, snorting into his tea. “Well, he’s a bit all our brother then, i’nn’ee?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Harry giggles, coming over. He hooks his chin over Louis shoulder and presses himself in close to Louis’ body, enjoying the warmth and _manliness_ of him before accepting his mug of tea. Louis’ been wearing his glasses more often since turning twenty-one, and Harry likes the look of him in them. “You’re fit and I like you.”

“You just like I make you tea,” Louis says. 

Harry smacks a teasing kiss to Louis’ cheek, takes the mug, and settles down on the enormous and wholly uncomfortable hotel sofa. “Millie’s on a kick about siblings, it seems. She’s told me I should have more babies so she can have a sister.”

Louis looks into his tea. There’s a bit of schmutz floating in the mug and he makes a face, fishing out the dust with his pinkie. “Yeah, she mentioned to me.” Louis clears his throat with a cough and debates whether to look at Harry, and he decides to chance it, glancing over the rims of his black glasses. “Is that – erm, in your plans? Something you, you want? To have more babies, I mean, not to adopt Niall. He’d eat us out of house and home.”

“No.” Harry looks a bit shell-shocked. “Louis, I – you – we – erm, biology, works, in a – way? I… so, no, I don’t think so.” He rubs his chest to try to calm his speedy heart. “Do you remember how badly I reacted to the birth of that one? No, I don’t – just for my health, I… unless _you_ wanted, but, erm… do you?”

“I don’t think you said a single sentence,” Louis remarks. He smiles and wishes his mouth weren’t so dry. 

Harry sits up a bit and looks earnestly at Louis through his curls. “Lou, I’m nineteen. I can barely get my head around the kid I’ve already got. I don’t know what I’ll want in like, ten years, but – I mean it all comes down to you for me. And Mills, if she gets over this siblings thing, but. I mean, it’s just not something I really think about. I’ve already got a family.” He pauses and looks down at his tea. There’s dust floating on its skin. “I wouldn’t begrudge you a kid if you wanted, though. Basically.”

“There you go, pulling ‘begrudge’ out again,” Louis says softly, fondly, and Harry looks up and smiles with his lips closed. 

Harry just keeps staring in Louis in that way that he does.

Louis sighs and gives up on the tea. He pours it down the kitchenette’s sink. “It’s not something I think about either, H. I – god, fine, I’ve already got a family, too, kind of two if you think about supporting my sisters and all, and I just – I know it’s probably not in the cards for me and that’s fine. I don’t think about it. I don’t _want_ to think about it.” He sighs. “I love you and I love Millie and that’s enough for me.” He bites his lips. 

Harry’s brow furrows and he nods at Louis seriously, his fingers steepled around his mug. “I know you’re her family and she’s your family and all, but… if you – someday, if you did want to have a kid of your own, that’d be – well, I’d owe you the help, wouldn’t I?” Harry laughs thinly. “I just want you to be happy. ‘Cause I love you, too.”

Louis nods. “Well. Thank you. But it’s a long way off anyway, I mean, I’m only twenteen years and six months old.”

Harry rolls his eyes and the tension cracks, and Louis smiles and bounds his way over to the sofa to nuzzle his nose into the ticklish side of Harry’s neck, snuggling close and throwing one leg over Harry’s thighs so they can snog a bit before going to sleep.

•••

After Toronto, Lou and Lux accompany them to Detroit and Chicago. Olly jets off for two shows in Mexico City, but Millie and Lux are too little for another long pair of flights, so One Direction and the Teasdale clan stay in Chicago for a bit of a holiday. Louis goes shopping up and down Michigan Avenue while Lou and Harry take the girls to American Girl Place, and after Lux leaves with a doll the size of herself and Millie complains that there aren’t enough animals, they trade off. Harry takes Niall golfing at a nearby country club while Louis takes Millie to Navy Pier – they go mini-golfing and eat hot dogs and watch an IMAX film about the ocean.

“Mills,” Louis asks, “D’you remember when you were very small, like Lux, and you called hot dogs ‘mice’? Why’d you do that?”

Millie’s eyes are very round and she bites the end off her hot dog with no small amount of viciousness. “Hot dogs _are_ mice. I eat them like snakes. Sssssssss!”

Louis pulls a face and forces himself to swallow his own bite, then pushes the hot dog away and decides instead to focus on his chips. Millie grins at him with red smears of ketchup all around her mouth, and Louis has to laugh.

“Come here, messy little snake.” He wets a napkin in her water and cleans off her face. “There you go. Back into the underbrush with you.”

“Thank you, mine Muppie,” Millie chirps, still happily munching. 

After Chicago, it’s a short jump to St. Louis, where they’re set to play an acoustic set for radio the night before their concert, as they have on a few stops before. But this time, the local ASPCA has a surprise for them to cross-promote some visibility.

“Wow, little bean,” Louis comments, using the hand Millie’s not holding, happily shuffling her pigeon-toed feet and ignoring the bustle of backstage, to point in the direction she ought to look. “What’s that there?”

Millie’s green eyes shine.

“ _Puppies_ ,” she breathes, tugging on Harry’s hand. “Look, Daddy!”

“Yeah,” Harry coos. He kneels down on Millie’s level and looks into the pen with her. “Do you want to pet one?”

She bites her lip and looks as though she may burst. “Can I?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry says. “Which one do you want to pet?”

Millie clutches her little hands beneath her chin. “The black one! Please!”

The ASPCA Shelter attendant smiles at Harry and gestures for him to go ahead and take the puppy from the pen so Millie can pet it. It’s a wriggly, excited little thing and as soon as Harry’s got it over the gate it jumps at Millie and knocks her down with oversize front paws all over her dress and a smelly tongue in her face. 

“Oh, oh, oh!” Harry chides, quickly scrambling to pull the puppy away – but Millie’s just laughing and pushing the dog’s tongue away from her mouth.

“Yuck!” she chortles. “Daddy! It’s kissing me!”

“I know, sweetie, I can see that,” Harry laughs. “It’s because he likes you. Do you want some help?”

“Yes!”

Harry eases the puppy off of Millie and helps her to sit up and arrange her legs pretzel-style. “Now, the puppy is going to act like he sees you acting. You’re excited, he’ll be excited. If you’re calm, he’ll be calm. Okay? So be calm and nice. Ready?”

“Ready.” Millie draws her mouth into a ‘serious’ pucker. Harry settles the black puppy across her lap and it noses her neck curiously, making her shriek with little giggles as its cold, wet nose tickles at her. 

“Be calm,” Harry reminds her. “Now do you want to pet him?”

Millie nods and the puppy gives a _yip_. Harry’s throat feels a little tight and his heart is big and warm as he settles himself behind Millie with his long legs spidered around her and the puppy so he can lift her little hand and help her pet the puppy’s back gently. “There,” he whispers. “See? Calm and nice.”

Millie keeps petting the puppy and Harry lets it sniff his fingers, then kisses the top of Millie’s head. She smells like the puppy’s mouth.

“Daddy? Boy or a girl?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says, and looks up at the attendant. 

She smiles back. “She’s a girl. That’s Bella. She’s a pit bull puppy.”

Millie nods. “Good. No kisses from boys.”

“I’m a boy,” Harry points out. 

“You’re not a boy, you’re Daddy,” Millie says dismissively, and the attendant laughs so hard at the disgruntlement on Harry’s face – and at Millie’s pronouncement over pop music’s most desirable male – that she has to walk away lest she startle the rest of the pups.

Millie doesn’t move or make a peep outside of clucking adoringly at the puppy and petting its neck, so Harry just asks Paul to keep an eye on her rather than put her in the greenroom by herself. He gives Louis’ hand a squeeze before they head onstage, and Louis’ eyes glint mischievously as he quickly gooses Harry before jogging onstage and settling himself down between Liam and Zayn.

Their interview is generic and narrow, as they’ve normally been in the USA as there are two years of One Direction backstory for the new audience to catch up on before they can start getting interesting questions. They sing a mix of songs from Up All Night and songs from the newest release, because Simon’s banked a lot of hope that “What Makes You Beautiful” could be the hit in the US that it’s been in the UK and Australia; in the kids’ sphere, like Nickelodeon, it seems to be proving a good hunch.

They use it to close most of their acoustic and accapella sets, so they make their way gamely through the questions and a few renditions of songs from the newest album, one cover, and “One Thing.” They give shout-outs to Olly, Cher, and Big Time Rush to thank them all for the support and hospitality. Then, just as they’re about to start “What Makes You Beautiful,” two attendants make their way onto the platform stage holding a sweet white-and-brown puppy that Zayn immediately reaches out his arms for and a black-and-brown striped darling for Niall. The last attendant, the one who had laughed earlier, comes out a moment later with Bella, the black pit bull pup, in one arm and Millie clinging to her other hand. 

The audience erupts in screams and Millie ducks her head. 

Harry’s brows furrow as he looks up at the attendant.

“She wouldn’t leave Bella,” she explains apologetically. “Is that okay?”

Harry looks down at Millie and reaches out to gently re-curl an errant lock of hair that had mussed during the doggy-slobber attack earlier. He smiles down at his daughter. 

“Yeah, that’s okay,” he says. He pats his lap. “C’mon up, little bean.”

Millie clambers onto his lap and snuggles down close before daintily rearranging her skirt to cover her knees. The crowd unites in an _awww!_ that makes Millie look up worriedly at Harry, but he just smiles. 

“Do you want to say hello to everyone?” he asks gently, giving her a little squeeze. 

Millie ponders this for a moment and nods. Harry adjusts the microphone to point down to her mouth. 

“Hello, everyone,” Millie announces, and everyone _awww_ s and applauds again. The attendant finally settles Bella back into Millie’s lap and Millie immerses herself in quietly petting the dog again.

The camera flashes are blinding. Harry kisses the side of Millie’s curly head and then gives Liam a smile.

“Good to go?” Liam asks. Harry curls one protective arm around Millie and the puppy and gives Liam a nod. “Then this is One Direction, singing ‘What Makes You Beautiful’!”

“Featuring puppies!” adds Niall.

“Featuring puppies,” amends Liam.

“And the irrepressible Millie Styles!” adds Louis, and the audience cheers. Millie, for once, for the first time in over a year when faced with an audience, looks up and beams.

Harry thinks it’s their best-ever performance. Zayn’s puppy yips into the microphone and amps up Zayn’s voice to fucking positively _euphoric_ ; Louis and Niall are blending perfectly; Liam – Liam! -- _spontaneously_ decides to beatbox a backdrop to Harry’s solo and it’s _so fucking good_ and then Harry tilts his microphone down and lets Millie sing the very final _that’s what makes you beautiful_. 

And Harry thinks, as he kisses the back of her head so proudly and can’t contain the grin on his face, that it’s probably the new happiest moment of his life.

Millie cries and cries and cries when the ASPCA attendants load the puppies back into their van. She clings to Bella’s furry neck until Harry and Louis have to pry her arms loose and then she clings to Louis, sobbing just loudly enough to make anyone decent’s heart break. Her nose is runny and pink and her eyes are ringed in red and her forehead and curls are sweaty and Harry is tempted to buy Bella outright, but he _can’t_. They’re in America somewhere for pete’s sake, and they can’t cart a dog around with them.

He nuzzles in close to Millie’s ear where she’s buried her face in Louis’ shoulder. Harry rubs her back soothingly in circles. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispers, and really is so sorry. “I’m sorry that you can’t have Bella.”

Millie tightens her hold on Louis’ neck. 

“She’s going to go to a nice home,” Harry promises. “But she’ll remember you, okay? She liked you very much.”

“She give me kisses,” Millie whimpers, and Harry closes his eyes.

“Yes, she did. But you know what? Maybe someday we can get another pet for you, okay? Something cuddlier than a salamander. Not today, and not tomorrow,” Harry adds quickly. “Only when we’re back home. But maybe we can get our own dog or cat or something that will give you kisses, too.”

“No boys,” Millie murmurs, wiping her nose on Louis’ shirt. “Only girls.”

“Okay,” Harry promises. “Only girls.”

Millie isn’t talkative after that and falls asleep quickly, still nestled into Louis’ arms. Once they get back to the hotel, Harry helps her into her jammies but foregoes brushing her teeth and gets her tucked in fairly easily. She’s still grumbly and sweat-sticky from crying herself out, but she wraps her arms around her stuffed alligator and goes right back to sleep.

Harry closes her door and slips into the bathroom that separates her little bedroom from his shared room with Louis in their suite. Louis is standing at the sink in his underwear, flossing his teeth. His face looks freshly scrubbed, so Harry leans in for a sniff and a kiss to the sensitive underside of Louis’ jaw.

“Is Bean alright?” Louis asks around the floss.

Harry sighs and nods. “Yeah.” He pulls off his own t-shirt and tosses it through the doorway into his waiting ‘dirties’ suitcase. “I feel so badly, though. God, she really loved that puppy.”

“Doesn’t take much when you’re that little, does it?” Louis remarks. “She falls in love fast.”

“We should get her a real pet,” Harry says. “When we get home. I loved having a dog when I was her age, you know, and I loved having a cat. We should get her something to help take care of that’s not so… slimy as Bobo was.”

“We’re always on tour, though,” Louis reminds him gently. He spits into the sink, swishes with mouthwash, and leaves a tingly, cold kiss on Harry’s shoulder. “Liam only just barely manages those turtles ‘cause Danielle stays with them. The three of us are always traveling together.”

Harry’s quiet as he brushes his teeth and washes his face. He strips out of his jeans and clicks off all the lights on his way into their bedroom, where Louis’ already pulled the covers back. He turns out the last lamp as Harry slides into the bed and molds himself to Louis’ back, one warm arm wrapped around Louis’ waist.

“What if we weren’t?” he asks quietly, lips brushing along the back of Louis’ neck.

Louis tenses and rolls over just a bit. They can’t quite see each other in the darkness, but the moonlight or magic glints from Harry’s green eyes and Louis stares at them as he laces his fingers into Harry’s hand. “D’you want to quit the band?”

“No, no, no,” Harry assures him. Then he sighs thoughtfully. “Just like… some time off. The summer, maybe, or… I don’t know, I guess we can’t in the summer since we’re going to Australia again. Maybe the autumn, then.”

“We’ve got the arena tour and we’ve got to record another album,” Louis reminds him gently. He lifts Harry’s hand and kisses Harry’s warm wrist gently, lips pressed to silver and nylon and skin. “But maybe, since it’s all in the UK. She can go to nursery school then. She’s still so small now and things are – for us, they’re picking up. I don’t want to quit while we’re ahead.”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers. “You’re right. We should probably tell management soon, though, since they’re booking everything so far in advance. We’ll take time off and she’ll go to nursery school. And we’ll get a good pet.”

“Maybe she’ll want a komodo dragon,” Louis mutters, settling his head back down on the pillow. “Which, by the way, if she does, I’m moving out.” They’re almost asleep when Louis jerks and lifts his head and rolls Harry over a bit to look seriously into his eyes. “ _Or a snake_.”

•••

In San Diego, after they’ve been on the bus for what feels like ages and Niall is sick and Liam is whiny and Zayn needs a smoke _so_ fucking badly and Louis is tetchy about a trending topic about his bellyfat and Harry is just generally in a state of malaise because everyone else is so miserable, they discover that Millie’s taught herself to read.

“Daddy!” Millie chirps, turning around where she’s balanced to look out the bus window. “Zoo!”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees idly, “I guess we are near the zoo. Maybe we can g—wait a second, bean, when – how did you know we’re near the zoo?”

“Sign,” Millie says, and shrugs. She bounces a bit on her toes. “I want to go! Today?”

“No, we can’t go today, we have – wait, I don’t understand. Millie, how’d you know what the sign said?”

“It says ‘zoo,’” Millie explains patiently. “Z-O-O.”

Louis lifts his head from his phone and looks at Millie. “Bean… can you _read_?”

Millie considers this. She shrugs again. “Yes.” She looks back out the window. “Tomorrow, can Bee zoo?”

“I guess so,” Harry says. “Sweetie… can you come here and tell us about how you learned to read?”

Millie sighs heavily and clomps down from her windowside perch to go sit with Harry and Louis. “Not every words,” she explains. “Animal words.”

“You can only read animal words?” Louis clarifies. “Erm, but – sweetie, how does that work?”

“iPad,” Millie demands, sticking out her hands. Louis glances at Harry, then hands over the iPad. Millie clicks a bit, wriggling her feet, and opens her animals-and-letters app, ZooFax. “I read this. Zoo – Z-O-O. Animals. A-N-I-M-A-L-S. I want to go zoo, Muppie.”

“I know you do, sweetie,” Louis says, looking at Harry in amazement over her head.

“Bean, can you read your name?” Harry asks, smoothing down Millie’s hair so he can kiss her head.

Millie looks at Harry with even more patronization than she often looks at Lux with. “Yes, Daddy. ‘B.’”

Louis can’t help it. His hands come up to slap over his face quickly, hiding his howl of laughter, as Harry nods slowly and murmurs, _yes, of course, how silly of me_.

The next night, the whole band and Paul accompany Millie to the zoo, where she proudly reads them – correctly! – most of the signposts leading to animal exhibits. She and Liam put their names down to donate money towards the adoption of a Galàpagos tortoise; they each put in $500 and get to spend 15 minutes talking to a tortoise zookeeper. When Liam carries Millie back riding his shoulders, they both have hearts in their eyes and talk cooingly about tortoises for the rest of the day.

“Acchi, how’d’you spell tortoise?” Zayn asks Millie, tickling the bottom of her foot before handing her a popsicle.

“T-O-R-T-L-E,” Millie recites. She takes a bite of coconut popsicle and it dribbles into Liam’s hair. “No. Mistake. Sorrisorry. T-O-R-T-S. Tortoise.”

“That’s better than I can do,” Liam says, nodding at Zayn.

Zayn smiles and reaches out to offer a way to help Millie down so Liam can clean his hair. 

She grins at Zayn and clings to his leg once he’s set her down, rubbing her cheek on his knee. “Hi, Zayng.”

“Hello, Acchi,” Zayn says, smiling down at her. “Are you having fun at the zoo?”

“Yes,” she confirms. She holds out her hand plaintively. “Hold!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Zayn says, and lets Millie hold onto his fingers as she gallops alongside him. She skids to a stop outside the reptile house with a howl of joy and a cry of “Reptiles!”

“Oh, great,” Louis mutters. “Here we go.”

They spend most of the afternoon perusing the reptile house and taking a stroll down the Reptile Walk outside. Finally, because Niall is getting so squirrelly, Harry crouches down to rub Millie’s back and ask, “Bean, d’you want to see a panda?”

Millie glances over at him, still patting the glass of the arboreal salamanders’ tank. “Panda? P-A-N-D… A.”

“Right,” Harry agrees, and kisses her cheek. “Do you want to see one?”

“China,” Millie reports. “Mamboo.”

“ _I_ want to see a panda,” Niall whines. “We seen so many lizards today!”

“Reptiles,” Millie corrects. “Amp’bee-ins.”

Niall grumbles and Millie shakes her head, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like _brothers_ , but lets Zayn steer her out of the Reptile Walk and towards the Panda Canyon.

For all her reticence, Millie is just as enchanted with the giant panda as she was with the komodo dragons. She begs Harry to let her buy a panda talk, too, but he says that she can’t spend $1500 on half an hour of talking to zookeepers. Millie asks then if she can just buy the panda, but Louis offers instead to buy her a stuffed panda toy at the giftshop after she eats her dinner.

They look at all of the Big Cats then the rhinos and Harry’s favorite, the giraffes. The giraffe pees while they’re watching, and Millie looks solemnly up at Zayn to report, “Giraffe mistake. G-I-R-A-F-F-F.”

They eat at the Hua Mei Café and stay at the zoo all the way through closing after the Nighttime Zoo, when the sun is setting in the Los Angeles sky and the breeze finally begins to cool the air. Long before that, Millie had begun to wilt, preferring to let Harry carry her and quietly watch the pandas eat their bamboo and gambol lazily. She pets Harry’s hair absently and chews on her fingers, yawning.

Millie closes her eyes and cuddles her head down onto Harry’s shoulder the way she had when she was a tiny baby. It sets off a pang of profound nostalgia in his belly and he reaches up to pet Millie’s curls once. “Are you so sleepy, baby beans?”

“Mine brains too heavy for mine neck,” Millie mumbles, pressing her face into Harry’s shoulder.

Harry chuckles softly and grazes a kiss over the crest of her forehead. “Okay.”

“Hey, can you spell ‘sleepy’?” Zayn asks, rubbing Millie’s back.

“No,” Millie says into Harry’s shoulder. “Bee no animal. No Bee words.”

The rest of the tour passes so quickly that Harry feels like his brains are too heavy for _his_ neck, traveling at high speed up and down the West Coast and playing a gruelingly hot show every night. Millie gets sick twice in Texas and is so tired in Florida that she can’t even enjoy the Animal Kingdom, which makes her frustrated and throw an unseemly temper tantrum on the road at the exit of the park, crying and kicking her feet in the dust and shrieking.

“I think she’s cracked, H,” Louis mutters, rubbing the small of Harry’s back after Harry’s scooped Millie off the ground and admonished her behavior sourly. She’s sitting crossly in her carseat, hiccupping and drinking lemonade and pushing her sweaty fringe back from her forehead and paying them no mind. “We need that time off.”

“You’re right,” Harry says, also cross. He’s got his arms folded over his chest and shakes his own damp fringe out of his eyes vengefully.

“Erm,” Liam pipes up timidly, “I suppose it’s good – well – erm, I’ve already talked to everyone at Modest! and Syco about it, and it just seemed, after this year, you know, with Zayn and Millie and you two and all and – stress, and such, erm, well we’ve got off until January once we get home Wednesday. Erm, if you wanted. If you didn’t want, you know, we could record stuff or whatever, but. Erm. Yeah.”

“Liam Payne,” Louis sighs happily, resting his head against the back of the car’s backseat, “You are a beautiful man and I could kiss you.”

“I don’t think we need that kind of drama right now, Tommo,” Liam says primly. “Best not.”

•••

When they return to the UK, Harry and Millie head off to pick up Bobo from the Teasdales first thing while Louis accompanies Liam to a meeting with Jones and the rest of their management team. He expects a side-eyed mention that he hasn’t been photographed with Eleanor in almost a full year at this point, and isn’t it time he ring Leigh Anne or Ella? but instead, they confirm with Liam that he’s willing to spend his time off being a last-minute ringer X Factor judge, and ask Louis if he would be interested in co-hosting Xtra Factor – taking over for Olly now that he has no time, being an international popstar and all.

Louis’ heart drops into his stomach. “Yeah, sure.” He shakes his head, a grin growing. “But – with Caroline?”

“It might go a ways towards both of your careers,” Jones admits. “And Harry’s.”

Louis looks down at his hands, but the smile keeps growing and he nods. “Yeah, I – could Niall and Zayn, too? And I have to talk to – talk to Harry about it, in case he thinks it’s like, awkward, but. Yeah, I’ve always wanted to be a presenter.”

Niall and Zayn get the go-ahead to be guest hosts on alternating weeks; Louis goes out to dinner with Caroline and the tabloids run _wild_ , but, he tells Harry in bed later that night, it was a good idea. They’ve settled their consciences and he thinks they’ll get along well.

“She’s good at taking banter,” he says, kissing the back of Harry’s shoulder.

“She’s good at taking a lot of things,” Harry says, and Louis bites him hard enough that Harry yelps and his shoulder has a round, purple bruise for the next week. Harry rolls over and gives Louis a hurt, puppy-eyed look, and Louis laughs _I’ll show you, you tosser_ and rides Harry at a painfully slow, deep, rocking pace until Harry’s covered in a shiny sweat sheen and Louis comes hard enough to stripe Harry all the way to the neck.

The next morning, they give a press conference announcing their X Factor roles (or hiatus, in Harry’s case) to Sugarscape, The Guardian, and Radio1.

“We’re just going to take about six-odd months off from touring,” Harry says, linking his fingers together. “I want her to start nursery school and be like, around other small kids? She’s only got Lux Atkin and then everyone else she knows is a grown-up, and I’m afraid it’ll turn her weird.”

“You all are living with Louis,” Niall laughs, “She’s already bound to be weird.”

“She does _really like_ lizards,” Louis muses pensively. He pats Harry’s thigh and looks over to him with mock-drawn eyebrows. “Is there something particularly lizardy about me?”

“Just your beady lizard eyes,” Harry assures him.

“And your scaly skin,” Zayn adds.

“Cold nose,” offers Liam.

“That’s dogs, not lizards,” Louis corrects him. “Lizards are just cold-blooded.”

“That’s true,” Niall agrees. He gives the cameras a wry look. “We saw a _lot_ of them at the San Diego Zoo on tour. Millie really loves poisonous lizards.”

Harry covers his face with both hands and Zayn and Louis both clap his shoulders.

“You see?” Liam asks. “We’ve got this hiatus going just in time to keep anyone from turning out weird. Niall included.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	22. Chapter 22

“Okay, little bean,” Harry says indulgently, snapping up the big pink buttons on Millie’s coat. “You’re going to be good for Liam and Danielle, right?”

Millie smiles sweetly with lots of dimples and teeth and steps into her green boots.

“Be good,” Harry says sternly, tapping her nose. Then he leans in and wrinkles his own nose, grinning back conspiratorially. “But have fun with Liam, okay? Do you have the spoons?”

“In my handbag,” Millie confirms, patting her big green bag.

“That’s my girl.” Harry kisses her forehead. “Go run and say good-night to Mup.”

Millie takes him at his word and zips off into the kitchen, boots slapping against the floor. Harry hears the moment that she collides with Louis’ knees because Louis shouts and Millie cries, _oh, shit!_ and Louis hisses, _no, don’t start that again right before you go to Liam’s, he doesn’t even like it when_ I _swear!_. Harry giggles to himself out by the door as he waits for Liam and Danielle to arrive for their charge, and sounds from the kitchen dampen to the strange little cooing noise that seems to be the default tone that Millie and Louis use with each other. 

When Millie clomps back to Harry at the door, her eyes are big and shiny and her lower lip pouts out heartbreakingly.

“Oh, no,” Harry says, scooping her up in a hug. “What’s wrong now, bean? Are you not excited for a big sleepover?”

“No,” Millie sniffs. She holds her chin high and Harry strokes her curls. “I am excited. I am also worried. I do not want to come home to nobody here.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and hugs her tightly. “We’ll be here when you come home. I promise.”

Millie’s chin quivers a bit beneath her fat lip. “Okay.”

Harry kisses both of her cheeks and her nose. “I _promise_. You’ve had sleepovers before, sweetie-bean. What’s got you scared?”

“The kitchen maybe on fire!” Millie wails. “I do not want you to burn up!”

“Oh, sweetie, nothing like that’s going to happen!” Harry puffs out his lips and looks at Millie from beneath his fringe. “Do you really think I’d let Mup burn down the kitchen?”

Millie stares right back from beneath her own messy hair. “Why he got the fire kestinguisher out?”

“Well,” Harry equivocates, “So he doesn’t burn the kitchen down, of course. See? Mup’s being careful.”

“Then why he use knifes without a adult?” Millie asks, crossing her arms.

“Well, technically, Mup is an adult,” Harry explains. “I know it’s hard to believe, but he is. He can do most things by himself if he wants. Except maybe fly a plane. Or drive in America.” Millie still looks uncertain, so Harry leans in and rubs his nose on hers. “If you’re too worried to go, we can call Liam and Danielle now. You don’t have to go if you really don’t want.”

Millie ponders this, lips screwed up and eyebrows drawn. Harry kisses her forehead again and fluffs the matted, soft curls at the back of her head as she thinks – and he mentally prepares to tell Louis to set a third plate; maybe two more for Liam and Danielle if Louis’ botched the whole plan and ordered a Chinese.

“No,” Millie says finally. “I want to go. I like Liam and Danielle. Danielle said she would do my hair. I wish mine hair like Danielle.”

“You have very pretty curls, too,” Harry reminds her, tugging on one of them lightly.

“Danielle hair is more longer,” Millie whines. “My hair is short. Like boys.”

“Your hair is certainly not short like a boy,” Harry laughs. 

“It is more shorter than your hair,” Millie argues petulantly.

“Well.” Harry can’t argue. “That’s ‘cause yours is curlier. You’ve got oodles of curls! Mounds of curls! A whole poodle of curls!” For every hyperbole, he tosses Millie in the air and catches her until she’s shrieking and happy and Harry cuddles her up close and she kisses his face.

“If you get worried,” Harry whispers. “You can always call and check on us. Okay?”

Millie looks instantly peaceful, but clings on a little closer. “Okay, Daddy. Do not answer if you are busy kissin’.”

“What?” Harry cries, looking down at her. “What are you talking about, mademoiselle?”

“I am a smart lady,” Millie says loftily. 

“Oh, are you?” Harry asks wryly, tickling her ribs. There’s a knock at the door and Harry lets Millie look out the peephole because she likes to, and she waves back to Liam and Danielle before the door is even open so they’d be able to see. Harry undoes the locks and pulls the door open and Millie jumps into Danielle’s arms so easily that it’s like her uncertainty of minutes ago had never even happened. Harry gives Danielle and Millie each a kiss on the cheek and Millie insists on giving him two more kisses before Harry gives Liam an octopus hug and whispers to give them a ten-minute warning if Millie wants to come home in the night.

And then they’re gone, off down to Liam’s part of the building complex – nearer the pool, and Harry’s packed Millie her suit and Splashappy swimming arm bands for a treat in the morning – and Harry locks the door again. He takes a second to breathe and roll his shoulders; now that he’s home with Millie full-time, sometimes it’s harder to get out of the headspace of ‘dad’ and into the headspace of ‘Harry.’

Then he turns and shakes out his hair, sweeping back his fringe. He saunters into the kitchen as quietly as he can in his sock-feet and drapes his arms around Louis’ shoulders at the counter. He runs one hand over Louis’ chest and feels his heart thudding beneath the soft cotton and chases the feeling down over Louis’ front to fiddle with the first button on his trousers. 

“So,” Harry asks softly, his mouth touching a kiss to the back of Louis’ neck. “What are we doing tonight?”

“You’re distracting me,” Louis mumbles through a mouthful of food. “Hands off.”

“But we’re alone,” Harry whines. “Do you remember how rare that is? And she might call any minute and want to come back!”

“You gave her almost every spoon we own, she’s probably running around hiding them places,” Louis says. “Oi! Hands off the trousers!”

Harry does not remove his hand from pressing lightly over the front of Louis’ jeans. “But we’re _alone_.”

“Harry, I have slaved over a hot stove all day to make you a goddamn nice meal and you’re going to eat and love it!” Louis argues, but turns around in Harry’s arms to push his hips up against Harry’s once. “And then once you’ve praised me sufficiently, we can get busy kissin’.”

“You heard that?” Harry asks, laughing, his hands sliding around Louis’ waist. 

“I told her to say it,” Louis says cheekily, grinning at him. “She’s a big girl; she can spend the night four floors away, just as she has a hundred times before.”

“You cheeky bastards,” Harry says. “I should have known it was you. Without your influence, she’d be an angel.”

Louis turns back to the stove, breaking free of Harry’s embrace and picking out a bottle of wine. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response. Go sit at the table and I’ll bring the food out.”

“Will you also give me a foot rub and a whiskey on the rocks with my cigar? Where are your pumps and pearls?” Harry asks, smirking. “Let me help with something. I promised Millie I wouldn’t let you burn the house down.”

“I got the fire ‘kestinguisher,’” Louis says. “Go. I even set the table, don’t waste this opportunity.”

“Well, this, I’ve gotta see,” Harry says, finally acquiescing to Louis’ wishes. He heads into the dining room – which has been used exactly twice ever, and both were more as bars for raucous house parties than for actual dining – and grins at the table setting, which consists of two plates, two forks, two knives, and two slips of paper that say ‘you gave your daughter all our spoons!!’ 

“Lou,” Harry calls. “Did you want glasses?”

“Are you doing the dishes?”

“No?”

“We can glug from the bottle,” Louis calls back, and Harry rolls his eyes. He sits down and rests his feet up on Louis’ chair. He can hear Louis banging around in the kitchen, singing along to some jangly hipster bullshit that sounds like two glockenspiels and a cocker spaniel singing backwards through a French horn, so he pulls out his phone and scrolls through his mentions.  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** how is millie tonight ? :) xxxxx_  
               _I really think **@Harry_Styles** and **@Louis_Tomlinson** are together.. have you seen them w a girl lately??_  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** n milli s re so cuteeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** is so fittt!! i’d have his babyies!!_  
               _Had the best dream ever, omg **@Harry_styles** I love you_  
               _ **@Harry_styles** **@Louis_Tomlinson** **@carolineflack1** who do u ship more #haroline #carolou #lourry_  
               _ **@Harry_styles** your boyfriend is so cute_  
               _ **@Harry_styles** your daughter is so cute_  
               _really, really, really, really, really want **@harry_styles** to follow me_  
               _ **@Harry_styles** is a hoarrible roll modle. Don't understand why anyone lets thier child listen to his band. Y do we rewerd teen pregnancy ?_  
               _ **@Harry_Styles** #GetMillieTwitter #GetMillieTwitter #GetMillieTwitter #GetMillieTwitter_

“Anything good on the Twitter?” Louis asks, leaning over Harry’s shoulder to set a dish of toast on the table.

“Why does no one who advocates for abstinence know how to spell?” Harry asks dryly. “And it’s always words they should know. It’s like Liam-level, only it’s not endearing.”

“Endearing?” Louis mimics, wrinkling his nose up on one side like he always does when Harry is being particularly ridiculous.

“Sometimes I say words like ‘endearing,’” Harry deadpans. He gestures to the spread on the table as Louis takes his own seat and uncorks the wine. “What did you make me?”

“Well,” Louis says grandly. “This will shock you. Ready? Are you ready for this?”

“Titillated.”

“I’ve got chicken breast, right – stuffed with mozzarella cheese – ” ( _Ooh_ ) “Wrapped in Parma ham – ” ( _Yum_ ) “Baked it. And some homemade mash, from potatoes, not from flake.”

Harry is laughing too hard to say anything as Louis looks proudly unabashed and dishes him up an enormous portion of potatoes, garnished with chicken.

•••

They make it through about a quarter of the potatoes that Louis’ mashed before he’ll acquiesce that it is an inhuman amount of mash.

“We’ll give the rest to Niall,” he says dismissively as Harry tries to figure out how to store it all in the refrigerator (“ _jesus, Lou, this’ll take more bowls than we own_ ”).

They shower together after, pressed in close and grazing mouths over skin, long, slow touches. Their hair is still wet and askew when they chase each other into their bedroom, running the few naked steps down the hall and falling right into bed, Harry over Louis in a cage of arms and broad shoulders and toned chest.

Louis’ fingers dig into Harry’s waist and his breath is hot against the taller boy’s neck when Harry drags his teeth over Louis’ shoulder and asks, “D’you wanna – trade?”

Louis raises his head. “Trade what?”

Harry laughs and brushes Louis’ fringe back from his face fondly. “Trade – trade. Like, switch. That’s it. Switch.”

Louis’ brow furrows, which is not what Harry had been expecting. “Why?”

Harry shrugs with one lazy shoulder and tips his face forward to dapple kisses over Louis’ collarbone and up his neck. “I’m curious. And I think it’d be hot.” He sucks lightly at the crest of Louis’ adam’s apple. “Don’t you think it’d be hot?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Louis hedges even as his hands run over the slight swell of Harry’s arse. “I _like_ your cock in me, so I don’t – I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Well, if you really don’t want to, we don’t have to,” Harry says easily, shrugging. “It was just a thought. I wondered what it’d be like – changing it up. I think you’d be so good, Lou.”

“Why have you never asked before?” Louis mumbles, giving up all pretenses and flopping back onto the bed, forearm covering his eyes. He doesn’t feel particularly sexy, talking about it – he’s not sure why, but it just feels off. He hesitates just a second before asking, “Are you – are you bored?”

“No, no, no!” Harry assures him. He lowers himself down and cages Louis in with his arms because he knows Louis loves it, how much bigger and taller Harry is; he noses at Louis’ wrist until Louis finally huffs and moves his arm so that his fingers can trail featherlight up and down the knobs of Harry’s spine and they can look into each other’s eyes. “Louis, I’m not bored. I promise. And you’re sexy no matter what, you stupid sexy fucker.” Louis smirks and Harry kisses him sweetly. “I just want to know what it’s like. We don’t have to.”

“I don’t think you’d like it,” Louis mutters. “It’s really – different.”

“I think I would,” muses Harry. “If it were you. I like your fingers and your tongue. You’re good with those. You’re pretty good with everything,” he purrs and sets the points of his teeth to the thin skin just behind Louis’ ear, biting down gently. “Plus, I like when you manhandle me. Everyone knows that.”

Louis’ nails rake over the arc of Harry’s ribs. He swallows. “I’ve never topped before. Not another guy, anyway. It’s been – pfft, fuck, what, like… five, four years at all?”

“That’s okay. I’ve never bottomed before, either. Not for a guy or a girl,” Harry says cheekily, giving Louis a grin. “Lou… I want you to fuck me. I’ll beg, if that’ll help.”

“That’s okay; not my style,” Louis snorts. Considering Harry’s face contemplatively, Louis runs his hand over Harry’s arse again before he speaks, a little plummy confidence creeping back into his voice. “How d’you want it?”

“I want you in charge,” Harry whispers back. “I trust you.”

“Okay,” Louis says thoughtfully. He closes one eye and peers up at Harry with a half-smile on his face.  
“Can I suck you off first?”

Harry rolls onto his back and tucks his arms behind his head with a cocky, dimpled grin. “Never say no to that.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Louis grumbles, eyes twinkling. He settles himself over Harry’s thighs and rolls his thumbs along the hollows of Harry’s sharp hipbones, making the younger boy’s eyelids flutter.

“And you get to,” is all Harry manages to say before Louis is kissing his way down Harry’s abs and he doesn’t feel like talking anymore.

While Louis sucks at Harry, going half-speed – not really trying to get him off, just make him feel good – he opens Harry slowly with his fingers. Harry’s used to taking one; he likes that, and he spreads his legs wantonly and hisses _yes, Lou, please, I want you_ once Louis’ in to the knuckle.

Louis sucks a kiss to the tip of Harry’s cock, flicking his tongue lightly over the slit. “I’m gonna try a second one now,” he warns Harry. “If it’s uncomfortable, tell me to stop and I will.”

“I know, I know,” Harry says, and reaches down to pet Louis’ hair fondly. “I trust you. Do it.”

Louis sucks Harry down deep, nudging at the back of his throat, and looks up at Harry through his eyelashes as he works the second finger in tucked tight with the first. Harry winces – it _is_ more than he’s used to – and Louis’ free hand skates soothingly up and down over Harry’s abs and chest until Harry starts to breathe normally again. 

Louis curls his fingers carefully. “Y’alright?”

“I’m alright,” Harry confirms. He bites his lip and opens his legs wider, experimentally rolling down to meet the meticulous thrust of Louis’ fingers. “It’s weird, but it’s good.”

“Good.” Louis kisses Harry’s hipbone. “You look fit from this – side of things,” Louis admits, laughing a little as he starts to scissor his fingers open, fluttering, prepping Harry to take a third.

“I was thinking the same for you,” Harry jokes back, his voice catching. “Put in the other, I want your cock already.”

Louis snorts and licks a wet stripe up the length of Harry’s prick. “Needy.”

“Rich talk coming from you,” Harry says, then moans softly as Louis does grant him just the tip of a third finger to get used to the openness and the width of it. “You – oh, mm – you made me fuck you in the toilets at Nando’s three weeks ago.”

“I was bored!” Louis defends, curling his fingers to make Harry gasp and shift down to fuck Louis’ hand a bit in curious earnestness. “And that angle we got balancing off the paper roll was _really_ good, you have to admit.”

Harry laughs breathlessly. “Yeah, yeah. Lou – ”

“Alright.” Louis takes a deep breath and nods, then kisses Harry’s knee as he slides his fingers free and roots around in the bedside table for a condom. He sucks in a breath through his teeth when he looks down to see that Harry’s slid two of his own fingers into himself while Louis slicks the condom with lube.

“How d’you want it?” Louis asks again, flicking Harry’s nipple just to be a prat.

“Whatever you think’s best,” Harry repeats. He groans under his breath and his cock blurts a smear of precome onto his belly. “I just want you to fuck me.”

Louis bites his lip, considering. “Turn over.”

Harry flashes him a wide, dimpled grin and flips over onto his hands and knees. Arse in the air, he looks back over his shoulder at Louis. “I can tell you that from your end, this way’s pretty great.”

Louis just kisses Harry’s back. “You ready?”

Harry nods and drops his head, eyes closed. Louis gives his cock a few pumps to warm the lube again and lines up behind Harry. It’s clumsy; they both twitch a few times and miss their targets before Louis grabs hold of Harry’s hip with one hand and holds him still and steady as he pushes in slow. They’re both panting by the time Louis’ hips are flush with Harry’s arse, and Louis bends over Harry’s back to kiss his shoulder blade.

“Y’alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry answers right away. “Yeah, I’m well. How are you?”

Louis laughs and Harry can feel it all through him. “I’m also well.”

“ _Move_.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “Okay.”

He’s unpracticed. It takes time to build into a rhythm they recognize and Harry can follow, meeting Louis’ thrusts with his own. After they’ve got that working, Louis reaches around Harry’s hips and slips his fingers over Harry’s cock, coaxing it back up to full, leaking hardness and thumbing over the lip of the head where it’s stretched tight.

“Mmm, yes, please,” Harry murmurs, rocking his hips to get better friction against Louis’ hand. “Love your hands.”

Harry’s soft sounds and stolen curses make Louis come before Harry’s anywhere close. He pulls out, apologizing, ties off the condom, and slides beneath Harry where he’s still on his hands and knees, head down, recuperating, to suck Harry off again. He slides soothing hands up and down Harry’s chest and sides and back and over the ticklish backs of his thighs, and Harry sounds almost surprised when it doesn’t take long for him to come.

They curl up together and Harry pushes Louis’ fringe away from his face. “It was a good experiment.”

“I think I prefer it the other way,” Louis admits sheepishly. “I just – yeah, your cock’s really nice.”

“So’s your arse,” Harry says lewdly, grinning. “Best bum in Britain.”

“You can have it later if you want,” Louis offers. “Right about now I’d rather have a tea.”

“Alright,” Harry agrees amiably. He nuzzles into the warm space behind Louis’ ear and presses his lips to the thin skin. “Thank you for indulging me.”

“Is that what the kids call it these days?” Louis asks, and heaves himself out of bed. He puts on his ridiculous Hugh Hefner dressing gown and glasses. “Did you want a cuppa?”

“No, thanks,” Harry says. “I’ll just wait for you to come back.”

Louis smiles, leans over the bedside, and kisses Harry sweetly.

•••

Millie wakes Liam and Danielle bright and early the next morning with a plea that she’s starving to death and a question about how much cereal turtles can eat for breakfast. Liam jumps out of bed to check on Boris and Archimedes while Danielle chivvies Millie to the kitchen.

“Do you want to bake some muffins for breakfast, Pretty?” 

“Yeah!” Millie cheers, bouncing on her toes. “Mine Daddy cooks eggs and bacon.”

“I know,” Danielle says. “But that’s a different food.”

“Yes,” Millie says, as though it’s what she meant all along. “I can stir. But no knifes.”

“That’s right,” Danielle agrees. “No knives until you’re older.”

“I am three,” Millie offers. “Luxie is only two. She is a small baby. I am a big girl.”

“You’re not three yet, little miss,” Danielle laughs. “Next month. Then it’s your birthday, just as it was Lux’s birthday on Wednesday.”

“Party on Wennsday,” Millie reminds her. “Lux got 14 presents, which means I get 15 because I am more bigger.”

“Is that so?” Danielle asks, taking bowls and boxes and jars out of the cabinets. “Is that how birthdays work?”

“Yes,” Millie says, and shrugs. “Uppy, please!”

Danielle lifts Millie to perch on the countertop and Millie kicks her feet against the front of the cabinets in a wonky off-rhythm. They Danielle measures out all of the ingredients for raspberry crumble muffins, and Millie dumps the ingredients into a big bowl. She watches carefully as Danielle preheats the oven.

“I will use a bakin when I am a grown up,” Millie comments, stirring sloppily.

“A bakin? An oven?” Danielle clarifies. She tips the bowl back upright and Millie nods appreciatively.

“Yes,” Millie agrees. “When I am a grown up. Mine Mup is a grown up.”

“That’s right. Millie, what _do_ you want to be when you grow up?” Danielle asks curiously. She pours more raspberries into the bowl, and Millie gives a grunt as she stirs harder.

Millie hums as she considers the question. “A zoologist,” she finally decides. “Or, a dragon. Or a dancer. Or a bird. Or! A daddy.”

Danielle laughs. She takes a fresh raspberry from the carton and offers it to Millie, who eats it gratefully and hums again. “Well, you can’t be a dad, or a bird, or a dragon. But a zoologist sounds so good! Bertram is quite happy with you. And a dancer is a lot of hard work, but it is fun.”

“Why can not I be a daddy?” Millie sets her jaw. “Mup and Daddy say I can be anything.”

Danielle twitches her lips as she takes down a second bowl to mix up the streusel topping. “Well,” she says. “Because you’re a girl. Daddies are boys. You could be a mum. You’ve seen mums on telly, haven’t you? They’re like dads but girls.” She pokes Millie’s belly. “And you quite like being a girl, don’t you?”

“Yes!” Millie shoots back. “Girls more prettier and I am the most prettiest girl.” She sighs longingly. “Except for your hair is more nicer.”

•••

Harry and Louis, both walking a little bowlegged, pick Millie up around lunchtime. She proudly presents them with lopsided muffins, then crawls all over their legs and begs for Yorkshire pudding. After thanking Liam and Danielle, Louis hefts Millie up onto his shoulders to bring her home for sandwiches and soup, a bath, and a nap instead. Harry stays to work out with Liam, and he smiles soft and warm at Louis as he kisses him on his way out the door.

“Did you have a nice time today, little bean?” Louis asks, swishing the wash cloth under the warm water to get it soapy.

“Yes!” Millie assures him. She plays with her dinosaur sponge. “Mine mum and me maked muffins. Liam give me ten pence for one muffin!”

Louis tilts his head to study her. The water splashes quietly as Millie dunks the dinosaur sponge. “Who did you make muffins with, sweetie?”

“My mum,” Millie informs him. “Danielle. Danielle is my mum.” She raises the dinosaur over her head and wrings it out so that soap and water cascade all over, sloshing the side of the tub and onto Louis’ trousers. “Look! Raining!”

“Yes, it is,” Louis agrees. “You’re raining all over my clothes, goofball.” He hesitates. “Why do you think Danielle is your mum?”

“Well,” Millie says thoughtfully, sticking her leg up out of the water so she can soap between her toes, “Danielle tell me mums are daddies, but girls. And she is a girl. She takes care of me and is nice and maked muffins. She is my mum. Daddy not can be my mum; he is Daddy. Zayn telled me you are a boy, you not can be my mum. Danielle is my mum.”

“Oh,” is all Louis replies.

Millie tilts her head and studies Louis as he washes her back and pours fresh water over her soapy hair. “What is mups? You are not Daddy, but you are not a mum.”

Louis swallows and shrugs. Then he switches the lever so that her bath starts draining. “Nope, I can’t be your mum really if I’m a boy. Now come on, little beanface. Let’s get dried off and ready for a good nap. Do you want a cuddle?”

“Yes, please,” Millie says, and giggles as Louis shimmies her in the Pingu flannel to dry her off. She pats his face and squishes his cheeks in so his lips purse out like a duck. “I love you, Muppie.”

“I love you, too, little bean,” Louis whispers. He kisses her forehead. “Very much. Let’s get some jammies on and go to sleep, alright?”

•••

Millie stamps her foot, arms crossed, face stormy. “Daddy, I don’t _wanna_ nap!”

“Daddy doesn’t really care,” Harry sing-songs back. “You are _going_ to sleep, young lady.”

“I am a lady,” Millie agrees, grinning brightly. Then she scowls again. “ _No nap. Just play_.”

“Either you take a nap or you sit in the time-out chair,” Harry threatens, pointing to the beanbag chair in the corner of the kitchen – far away from both the fridge and her kitchen playset. “It’s your choice.”

Millie frowns deeper and stamps her feet in quick succession, growling fiercely. “I not tired, Daddy! I not tired, wanna play!”

“You’re acting tired,” Harry says loftily. “Only small babies throw tantrums when they’re asking for things.”

Millie’s hands fly up to her eyes and she rubs them despondently, trying not to cry. “I not a baby. Babies nap, no big girls. I big girl _only_!”

“Your Muppie naps,” Harry points out. “Zayn naps all the time. D’you remember when he fell asleep in McDonalds?”

Millie sniffles. “Yes. Zayn is funny.”

“That’s right, he is,” Harry agrees. “Now. Do you think you can take a nap?”

Millie thinks about this for a long time, scrubbing at her eyes and randomly stamping one foot or the other. Her curls are wild around the crown of her head and one knee is scraped from the play area at her nursery, where she spends mornings until lunchtime. There’s a stain of lentil soup on the bib of her dress. She’s basically a mess, and Harry isn’t faring much better.

It turns out that parenting full-time is _really hard_ , especially with Louis out all hours filming with Cazza. Harry tries hard not to be jealous, but he’s finding himself increasingly needy of Louis’ attention and affection the more he’s gone. This morning, Louis texted him that Lou and Cindy had needed to use ‘ _a right vat_ ’ of concealer to hide the lovebite Harry left on his neck the night before.

Millie finally looks up at Harry defiantly, her lower lip poking out. “I will go to room. I will in bed. I no will nap. I big girl.”

Harry pats her head. “Alright, little bean. You hop along and get in your bed, then.”

“I will in bed,” Millie agrees. “I will awake. With arrigator.”

“Alright, sweetie,” Harry says blithely. “You go cuddle, awake, in bed, with your alligator. I’ll come give you a kiss.”

“No kiss!” Millie threatens, raising one hand in warning. “Kisses for sleeping. I no nap.”

“Alright,” Harry says. “Go on then.”

When he peers into her room ten very long minutes later, after he’s fixed himself a mug of _very_ strong tea, she’s sound asleep of course, with her fingers in her mouth and her head rested on her gator like a pillow. Harry rolls his eyes, then puts the protective gate up around her mattress so she doesn’t roll right onto the floor and clobber her head again. Then he collapses on the sofa with his own eyes closed, glad for the moment’s respite.

Even when she’s in school, he’s busy. He dusts and vacuums and runs errands and ponders dinner and cooks Millie’s lunch and talks to his mum on the phone. Sometimes, he’ll get lunch with Niall.

Niall’s taken to calling Harry a gay househusband, and Harry will be damned if that’s not true. He complained about it to Louis after the first time, but Louis just laughed and kissed Harry’s head and rubbed Harry’s aching feet. He still tries to pretend that it wasn’t mockery.

_harry let me inn !!_

Harry sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. His back pops as he stands and shuffles over to the door.

“Two N’s turns ‘in’ like ‘inside’ to ‘inn’ like, ‘no, Virgin Mary, you can’t stay with us to birth Jesus, go out to the barn,’” he mutters grumpily at Liam. “Be quiet, Millie’s just gone down to a nap and she’s been – she’s feisty today.” Then he takes one look at Liam’s face and Harry’s brow furrows. “Liam… are you alright? Just – come sit down, are you okay?”

Liam – shoeless – wanders into the flat and looks a bit lost. Harry puts an arm around Liam’s shoulders and steers him over to the couch. 

“Sit,” Harry says. He studies Liam’s blank expression for a moment. “I’m – getting you a whiskey.”

“I don’t drink,” Liam mumbles.

“You need a whiskey,” Harry contradicts, pointing knowingly at Liam as he pads to the liquor cabinet. He pulls out a glass – hesitates – and gets a second. He only pours himself one finger to Liam’s two, but _fuck_ are toddlers annoying sometimes, even if he loves Millie more than anything in the world. He locks up the cabinet again and when he gets back to Liam, the other boy has his eyes covered with the heels of his hands and his elbows rested on his knees and he looks more like a kicked puppy than Harry’s ever seen him.

Harry sits down next to him and nudges at Liam’s shoulder with his chin. “Here. Drink. Really, it might help.”

Liam sighs and takes the glass. He throws back the whiskey in one go like a shot and Harry blinks. “Fuck. Liam… what’s wrong?”

Liam looks over to Harry and his brown eyes are wide. “I – um, Danielle – ”

“Oh, my god, you didn’t break up?” Harry asks, then winces, because _yeah, he sounds like a gay househusband for sure_. He decides to roll with it; it’s his vibe now anyway and Liam looks _so_ upset. “You seemed so happy!”

“No, no, no,” Liam says, “It’s not – we’re fine, um, maybe. It’s just – she’s two weeks late.”

“Late for -- _oh_ ,” Harry says, his own eyes going wide. “Well. How does she -- _ah_ …” He trails off with a sound that hovers somewhere between human and bullfrog.

“Um, we don’t – know, there’s – um, I guess she’s going to a doctor on Monday; there’s some… like, metabolism thing from the dancing, the home tests don’t work right, or – I don’t know, I don’t have – parts and things and – and you know, she’s sometimes, she’s been late before, but not – you know, two weeks is just a bit…”

“Right,” says Harry. “I mean is she okay? You’re not okay. Are you okay? I’m gonna get you another whiskey; you’re not okay – ”

“No, I’m – ” Liam grabs Harry’s wrist. “Please don’t get me more whiskey. I mean, I think she’s okay, just…” Liam swallows. “I’m really, really scared.”

Harry stares at him. “I am going to take the moment to say the requisite: _you do realize now what an absolutely fucking_ dick _you were when we were sixteen_ , right?”

Liam’s face falls. “I – Harry, I’m so sorry. You know that, right? I just – oh, my gosh.”

“Liam, it’s okay,” Harry says, and smiles to prove it. “It’s been years, it’s fine. But you do appreciate the irony, right?”

Liam opens his mouth.

“Irony’s the right word,” Harry assures him. “But seriously… Liam, if Danielle is pregnant, have you talked to her? Do you know what you want to do?”

“Well, I’d marry her,” Liam says. “I mean I was going to propose at Christmas anyway, but – ”

“You were?” Harry cries, remembering a second too late to keep his voice down. “You didn’t tell us!”

“That’s because you and Louis are terrible with secrets,” Liam says indignantly. “I told Zayn and Niall.”

Harry scowls. “So, you and Danielle will get married, then? And keep the baby?”

“I think so,” Liam stutters, sobering again. “I just, you know, it is what the plan was, just… not really when we thought. It’s like five years early, and I just – I don’t feel ready.” He hesitates at the look on Harry’s face. “I realize my hypocrisy! Harry, _please_ , I don’t know how to do this and you _know_ how I get when I have to do something that I don’t know how to do!”

“Liam,” Harry sighs, “You don’t even know for sure she’s pregnant yet. And if she is, you’ve got each other. Really. I can’t tell you how much easier things felt for me when – when I got you guys. And I wasn’t in it alone anymore. You’re starting out with someone, and someone _great_. Danielle’s so good with Millie, and if you two are having a kid, she’ll be even better. I promise.”

“Wh – but I’m not great with Millie?” Liam asks. 

Harry makes a face. “You have your moments.” He grins. He rubs his chin along Liam’s shoulder again. “I’m mostly kidding. You’re good with Millie the same way you’re good with us. You’re like… the tough-love dad. Like the strict dad. Like, you make it really fucking hard to disappoint you because you just have that _look_ … dad.”

“Well, I don’t want to be _that_ dad,” Liam protests, sounding disconcerted. “I want my kids to like me.”

Harry blinks and wraps an arm around Liam, octopus-like. “Do you still think we don’t like you?”

Liam is quiet for a long moment. “I think you do sometimes.”

“Liam,” Harry mutters. “Don’t be stupid. We love you like crazy. Even if you were a dick when we were sixteen, we were _sixteen_! You got over it! Hell, when we were sixteen, I was such a dick that I knocked up someone else’s girlfriend and then entered a national televised singing competition. Okay? We were _all_ dicks at sixteen.”

“We didn’t know Louis at sixteen,” Liam mumbles. He’s still not quite so comfortable with affection as Harry and Louis and Zayn are.

“Have you seen his Bebo page?” Harry asks drily. “Louis was a gigantic dick at sixteen. He was a throbbing purple cock he was such a dick at sixteen.”

“Gross,” says Liam mildly, although he’s finally smiling a bit. “I’m still really scared.”

“And you’ll be scared ‘til Monday.” Harry grins. “And if Danielle is pregnant, then basically, you’re gonna be scared for the next… twenty years or so? I don’t know, probably longer than that. I haven’t planned that far. But Liam,” Harry squeezes the arm around Liam’s ribs. “You’re _so lucky_ that you’ve got Danielle and she’s _so lucky_ to have you. You love each other, and that’s gonna make it okay. You know? And the fans will be thrilled. And Millie. You know how she likes babies.” Harry’s green eyes sparkle. “Liam, really. If Danielle is pregnant, I’m thrilled for you.”

“What if she’s not?”

Harry smiles, soft and sweet. “If you’re wondering about that already, then it means you’re okay. I think. I don’t know, I had no idea about Clare until she was a few months in, but. You know? You’ve made like, brain-space for the baby. That’s good.”

Liam smiles a bit. “I suppose it is.”

Harry sighs and claps Liam’s shoulder. “Do you want another whiskey so long as you’re here?”

“No,” Liam says. “Can I have a glass of milk?”

Harry giggles. “Sure.”

“Daddy!” comes the shrill shriek from down the hall, and Harry’s eyes flutter closed. “I fell!”

“That’s because you keep trying to climb over your gate on the bed,” Harry calls back. “And I told you not to do that!”

“Well, I did it!” Millie howls back. “But now I fell!”

“Can you see bones?”

“I got a bump!” Millie wails. “Daddy!”

Harry scrubs through his hair and takes a deep breath. “Yep, I’m coming, sweetie.”

“I can get her,” Liam offers. “It’s okay. Do you want to go out for a bit? I don’t – really want to go home yet, just. The apartment feels a bit small, so. I can stay here with Millie.”

“Could you?” Harry asks gratefully. “Oh, my god. I could go shopping. I could go to a movie. I could go find Louis at the studio – I could,” he makes a terrible face. “I could go find my penis and stop being a bad American sitcom mother from the eighties; I have to go, I have to – go. I’ll be back later.”

Liam pats Harry on the back and Harry collects his coat and a plain gray knit cap to cover his curls. 

“Daddy!” Millie shrieks again, and Liam heads into her room. Millie scowls up from the floor, where she’s pulled her knee up to her face to examine the scrape. “You are not my daddy!”

“No,” Liam agrees pleasantly, sitting down beside her. “I’m not.”

“Where my dad now?” Millie demands. “I am died!”

“You’re not dying,” Liam argues. “And your dad went out for a bit. I think he’s visiting Mup and taking him to dinner or something.”

“But I am hurt myself!” Millie says indignantly. 

“Well, I can help you with that,” Liam says. “Let me see.”

Millie shows him her knee and the little purplish-gold spreading spreading on her kneecap. 

“Oh, yes,” Liam says. “I know just the thing for this. It’s an old sports remedy I learned when I was running a lot. You know how I fall.”

“You fall all the time,” Millie grumps. 

“I do,” Liam says. “So come along, we can get this cleared right up. Hop on,” he says, turning around so Millie can climb on his back. She clambers on and Liam stands, carrying her up to the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway so Millie can slap the top of the doorframe with both hands, giggling.

He sits Millie down on the counter and goes to the freezer. “First, we’ve just got to put some ice on it, right? And then – ice lollies,” he says, holding out a green and a red. “Very important part of the procedure. Crucial.”

“Green one,” Millie says, extending her hands. Liam hands her the ice lolly and she tries opening it. “This is not perseejure. It is a nice pack.”

“An ice pack,” Liam corrects. “And I’m not done.” He goes to the cabinet and finds some random spice mixes – and suddenly appreciates the difference between how Harry ‘knows how to cook’ and how Danielle knows how to cook – and takes out a few of the less-processed-looking leaves. “Now we have to make the magic poultice.”

“Magic poultry?” Millie repeats, mumbling around the lolly. “Like the bird in Harripotter?”

“Harry’s let you watch Harry Potter?” Liam asks in some surprise, looking over his shoulder at Millie as he takes down a bowl.

“No,” Millie says slowly. “I do not know Harry. Daddy and me watched Harripotter.”

“Right,” Liam says. “Okay, so now we take the fork – and we crush the magic leaves…”

“This magic smells like pisketti,” Millie says, and Liam tries not to laugh at the astute observation of the oregano and basil in the bowl. 

“Well, is spaghetti your favorite food?”

“Yes.”

“That’s because magic smells like your favorite food,” Liam says simply. “Now I’ve got to put the magic poultice on your knee; move the ice pack – ” he sprinkles the crushed leaves on her leg. “Ice again!”

“Now what?” Millie asks. 

“By the time you finish your Popsicle, you’ll be all better,” Liam says. He unwraps the red Popsicle and leans up against the counter beside Millie.

Across town, in the corner booth of a big Italian _ristorante_ , hidden from cameras and the public by curtains, Harry complains to Louis about how hard it is to be a single parent, and Louis nods along, staring into his plate, not saying a word.

•••

Millie mostly seems to enjoy going to nursery. There are lots of kids to play with and new cardboard books to read. Her teachers were very impressed when she turned up already able to read and write most of her letters, although she’s not ahead of the others when it comes to numbers – and she’s a bit behind on “appropriate social development.”

In other words, she’s bossy, and a little bit entitled. And she’s very fascinated by creepy-crawlies, where most of her new friends prefer the cute and cuddlies. Millie likes puppies and kittens well enough, but horses scare her and she’d rather see an anaconda than a unicorn. Harry doesn’t see what’s so wrong with that, really, although he did have to go in to the school after Millie found a small, three-legged newt in the schoolyard and insisted on carrying it around all day to care for it.

But all in all, her first month of school goes better than Harry had feared. He’s not informed that she’s woefully behind in anything, at any rate, and despite her bossiness, Millie makes a few friends her own age. She prefers Danielle and Zayn and Lux, but Harry surmises that’s because it’s difficult for her to explain their lifestyle – touring and recording and traveling the world – to other small kids. He has enough trouble explaining it to Robin and Gemma, sometimes, and they’re capable of higher speech.

He suspects increasingly, though, that taking time off to do separate work may – be troublesome for his relationship with Louis. He still loves him like _crazy_ , but Louis hasn’t been paying him as much mind. He comes home late, and often tipsy, and he just hasn’t really seemed interested in snogging or shagging or even _talking_ to Harry, really, in two weeks. He plays with Millie. He talks to her about her days or about animals that she reads about in her ZooFax app on his iPad and he thanks Harry for cooking dinners, but once they go to bed, Louis just… sleeps.

Harry spends a lot of his slight free time looking at himself in the mirror wondering if he’s become less attractive, or talking on the phone to his mum about his worries that Louis’ gotten bored.

He might even ring Caroline once to ask if Louis ever mentions him, but she doesn’t tell.

“It’s none of mine, Hazza,” she said. “I have a policy not to talk about relationships you’re in. It doesn’t turn out well for anyone.”

Harry sighs. “I suppose not.”

He looks up from where he’s scratching absently at a scorch mark on the countertop when Millie wanders into the kitchen. She looks troubled, and scampers over to push her face into Harry’s knee, nuzzling up against his calf.

“Daddy… I’m need attention.”

“Cazza, I’ll have to go,” Harry says into his mobile. “There’s a little bird that needs some attention.”

“Not a bird,” Millie mumbles, hugging his leg tightly. “Bee a big, big girl.”

Harry hangs up and looks down at Millie. “What’s up?”

Millie shrugs, then frowns and shakes her hair out, Harry-style. Harry ruffles her curls when she’s flipped them back into place, not looking up from his phone. He’s debating sending Louis a text. “You alright, bean?”

“Yes,” Millie hedges. A moment later, she shakes out her hair again, shoving her fingers into the curls and scratching wildly. 

Harry sets his phone on the table and frowns. “You sure you’re alright?”

“My hairs are itch me,” Millie whines. Her green eyes are wide and wet, and she sniffles once and keeps scratching. “They itch bad.”

Harry pouts and pushes his chair back to pat his lap. “Hop on up; lemme take a look. Maybe you’ve still got soap on it.”

Millie opts to crawl under the table and squirm her way up onto Harry’s knee, and he gently prizes her fingers out of her curls and kisses her fingertips before carefully parting her hair.

Harry’s stomach twinges.

“Am I soaped?” Millie asks, fingers twitching as she tries not to scratch.

“Nope,” Harry sighs. “You’ve got nits.”

“I got whats?” Millie cries. “What is nets?”

“ _Nits_ ,” Harry corrects sadly. “Little buggies.”

“I got bugs living in my head?” Millie wails, and promptly starts crying. “I do not want them! They hurt me!”

“I know, sweetie, but we’ll fix it,” Harry says. 

“I do not wanna get bald again!” Millie sobs. “My hair!”

“You won’t get bald,” Harry promises, and boops the tip of her nose. “There’s a shampoo with medicine that kills them and makes them go away and stop hurting. But I’ve got to call your doctor to check what’s safe for your age and we’ve got to call your school. And probably Lou, since you were playing with Lux yesterday.”

“Luxie give me _bugs_ ,” Millie growls, and pounds her small fists against Harry’s shoulder. “I am angry!”

“I know you’re angry, and that’s okay,” Harry says, “But don’t hit, remember? And Lux didn’t give you any bugs unless you borrowed a hat or a pillow or summat. Did you?”

Millie scowls. She thumps his shoulder again. “No. But why bugs live on _me_? I am nice!”

“It’s not nice to hit,” Harry points out, catching her flailing little fists and giving her a placating kiss, “But you must have got them at school. Did you play dress-up or anything?”

“No,” Millie grumps. “Nor did I napped there, I only napped at here, and at Luxie’s house, and at… erm… I napped at the X Factor, with Muppie, I napped on the green room.”

Harry smiles thinly. “Great.” He kisses Millie’s forehead. “Budge up and go play for a bit, I have to make some phone calls and then we’ll go get the shampoo, and tonight after tea we can watch a movie and have some ice cream, okay? We’ll cuddle up with Mup and just try to have a good night.”

“I want a roast,” Millie sulks. “And also tacos.”

“You can’t have a roast _and_ tacos _and_ ice cream, goofy, you’d explode,” Harry chuckles. He lifts Millie off his lap with a high airplane arc through the air and sets her down with a soft swat to her rump. “Go play, don’t scratch, and we’ll go kill the bad bugs.”

Millie scampers off to the living room, shaking her head frantically, but when Harry peeks around the doorframe, she’s got the television on to CBeebies and is sitting on her hands, rocking a bit and looking sullen but calmer.

Harry sighs again and ducks into the pantry to muffle his voice as he calls up Louis. It takes three rings, but when Louis answers, Harry just says, “She’s got nits, and she got them at the studio.”

“Wait, she’s got what at the studio?” 

“Nits,” Harry repeats. “She says she was napping in the green room. So now we’ve got to change out all the cushions and pillows in the flat, and the whole band’s got to get checked, and probably all the show contestants. And the nursery school. And Lux and Lou. God, and Lou’s a _hairdresser_.”

“Great,” Louis snaps. “Everyone will love that.”

“Well, it’s not her fault!” Harry argues. “She’s really upset and hurting and I don’t – don’t be cruel to her about it, Louis; she’s so embarrassed.”

“Well, it’s embarrassing,” Louis says. “Nits are disgusting.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s – not like _she’s_ disgusting,” Harry protests, his eyebrows drawn low. “Don’t act like that. It happens to a lot of kids. I’m just gonna call the doctor and then we’re going to the store to get that shampoo that kills them and it’ll be over with, I just – you ought to tell Siobhan and Rich and Nigel that the contestants ought to get checked before they get their hair done for Saturday.”

“Fine,” Louis says. “I think I might spend the night at Zayn’s then, if it’s all the same to you.”

Harry balks. “It’s a bit not, actually. She’s upset and wants you. What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me,” Louis bristles, “I just don’t fancy nits. That’s perfectly normal.”

“Yeah, fine,” Harry says. “Some help you are. Have fun at Zayn’s, then, while I strip the whole apartment and try to comfort my kid.”

“She’s not just – ” Louis cuts himself off and there’s a deep, sharp silence between them through the phone. They still haven’t spoken when Millie shouts _Daddy, are you done? They are bite me!_ from the living room. Harry can hear Louis swallow before he says, “I’ll tell the execs.”

“Yeah,” Harry says softly. “It’ll all be taken care of whenever you choose to come home.”

“Harry – ”

“Save it,” Harry says. “I have to go take care of my daughter.”

He hangs up and gets the names of toddler-safe products from Millie’s pediatrician, informs Lou and the school – who are exactly as thrilled as he’d predicted – and calls Anne to complain for a few minutes of huffing before he hears the telltale sounds of Millie scratch, scratch, scratching away again in the living room and drags her to the store. Millie is quiet and subdued in the bath as Harry washes her hair twice with the medicinal-smelling shampoo, but he lets her finger paint at the kitchen table while he combs through her hair for the casings. It takes hours and Millie cries when they have to douse her head in vegetable oil to keep it from tangling, but the first two knots were too snarled to comb through alone. She sulks at the table with her oily little head while Harry strips the covers from every fabric surface in the house and does two loads of laundry on autopilot.

He isn’t sure anymore why they thought taking a year off was a good idea. Nursery school is full of germs and bugs and children with parents who quietly judge and sell nonsense gossip stories; taking care of house full-time is more work, with less reward, than he expected.

And maybe he’s spoiled by the treatment they get on tour, but Harry does think it would be nice to hear a compliment just now. Something besides _mmm, good cereal_ or _yeah, Hazz, that’s nice; I’ll get you in the morning, I swear_.

He runs the vacuum over almost everything in the apartment and even feints at vacuuming Millie where she sits, just to make her shriek and giggle for the first time all day. When he’s finished, she tromps along behind him and hands him coverlets as he puts the apartment back together, her hair still coiled in a wet snake on top of her head.

“Alright, little bean,” Harry says, “Let’s order some takeaway and get you washed up, okay?”

“But Mup not is home,” Millie argues, “The clock says a six and he is not here. Why?”

“Oh, I bet he’s just running late,” Harry lies, swinging her up into his arms. “What do you want for tea, final answer?”

“Mmm,” Millie hums, “I want… a Chinese? Mup likes Chinese.”

Harry smiles through closed lips and drops a light kiss at the seam of Millie’s brow. “Okay. A Chinese sounds good.” He sniffs and comments, “Your head smells like chips,” and Millie gives his shoulder a smack.

“No. Hitting,” Harry repeats, and they head off to place a delivery order before shampooing Millie’s hair with her usual soft, sweet-smelling children’s shampoo, the miserable ordeal of nits over.

Millie keeps reaching up to pat her wet hair, tracking sticky sweet-and-sour sauce into her curls and making knots and clumps. Harry is leaning across the table with a soft, fond smile, blotting out her forehead with a paper towel when the front door jangles open and Louis comes inside, looking self-conscious and abashed with his head ducked low and a tight twist to his lips.

“Muppie!” Millie cries, and slides out of her chair to land with a _thunk_ on the floor. She cruises under the table and pops out on the other side to run across the living room and fling her arms around Louis’ thigh. “You late! You can share my broccolis. I had bugs livin’ on my head, Mup, but they are died now. I am not died. They hurt me and eated my head! No in my ZooFax. I do not know facts. Why are you late?”

Louis stoops down to gather her up into his arms and she melts against him, tucking her wet head under his chin. His Adam’s apple bobs against her cheek before he murmurs, “I’m sorry I’m late, little bean. Are you feeling better?”

“I am all better,” Millie confirms. She snuggles her face up against the scratchy underside of his chin and gives him a kiss. “I am better now you are here. And the buggies died.”

Louis rubs her back in a warm circle. “Yeah, I’m here. And I thought, if you want, I thought maybe we could have a movie night tonight since we didn’t ever get to have one last week. I got, I borrowed from Liam, actually, if you want, it’s a movie about dinosaurs called _The Land Before Time_?”

“What’s a dinosaurs?”

“Dinosaurs were giant lizards,” Louis says. “Like your toy, your erm – which is it, the brachiosaurus. With the long neck? In the movie, they can talk, but they couldn’t talk in real life.”

“As big as komodos?” Millie asks, her eyes shining. “They are the biggest lizards now, except not the biggest reptiles, which is crocodiles. They are seven meters. I am one meter.”

“That’s right,” Louis says. “You’re a little shortypants. Dinosaurs could be _twenty-seven meters_.”

Millie’s head pops up and her jaw drops, her hands clutched to her cheeks and her eyes round as five-pence. “That is hugest!”

“I know,” Louis says. “I thought you’d like them.”

“I do,” Millie gushes earnestly. “Where can I see one?”

“Well, they’re extinct now,” Louis admits, and toes out of his shoes so he can carry her back into the kitchen. “That means they’re all dead.”

“I know extinct,” Millie says loftily. “Eastern cougars. They get extinct when I am one years old. Now I am three years old!”

“You’re not three years old for another week, sillybean,” Louis argues, tickling her belly. “You’re still two years old.”

“No,” Millie says stubbornly. “Luxie is two years old. I am three.”

“You’re two.”

“I am three.”

“You’re two years old, bean. For one more week.”

“No, I am three.”

“Beanie, you’re only two for _one more week_.”

“No,” Millie says firmly, patting Louis’ cheek. “I am three.”

“You’re – ”

“Give it up, Lou,” Harry snips from the table. “She can argue it for hours.”

“So can I,” Louis says, and gives Millie a silly grin. “Now you’ve got to finish eating your dinner if you want to watch a movie.”

“I got sweet and sour chicken,” Millie informs him, “You can have broccolis! I do not want broccolis.”

“No, no,” Louis and Harry say in tandem, and Louis feels his face heat as his eyes meet Harry’s across the table. Louis settles Millie into her booster seat and ruffles her hair. He coughs and says, “You need to eat your own broccoli if you want to tame giant crocodiles. I’ll just have some tea and toast.”

“I got you spareribs,” Harry offers, not looking at Louis. “I put them in the fridge, though, so they’re probably cold.”

“That’s okay,” Louis says. He pauses. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Harry says. He drags his fork through his own beef satay, and only looks up to pat Millie’s knee when she kicks his thigh under the table to let him know that she needs another meatball cut. 

Louis microwaves his spareribs on a paper plate while Harry cuts up a little, sticky chicken meatball into quarters for Millie’s chubby fingers, because she insists that Chinese tastes best with her fingers. She squishes the meat through the electric pink sauce and it gets all over her face as she chatters about extinct animals; neither Louis nor Harry says a word to the other.

That night, after Millie’s cuddled up on Louis’ lap to watch their movie and she’s taken her last bath of the day and been tucked in, Harry finds Louis standing by the tea kettle, staring at it like he can make it boil quicker.

“What was up with you today?” Harry asks. He doesn’t slide his hands over the small of Louis’ back or nuzzle his face into the curve of Louis’ shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“Louis, I know you, I can tell when something’s wrong.”

“Can you?” Louis asks, and looks up, meeting Harry’s eyes. “That’s news to me.”

Harry is flabbergasted – enough that his hand closes around the handle of the fridge just to have something holding some of his weight. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Louis opens his mouth, shakes his head, and purses his lips shut like he’s trying to seal the words out of the air. “ _Drop it._ ”

“No,” Harry argues, tetchy. “What did that mean? What’s – what am I doing wrong I’ve not noticed?”

“Harry, please,” Louis says desperately, giving up and unplugging the electric kettle from its outlet. “I really don’t want to – I know how this fight ends, and I just – drop it, okay? I’m sorry I was cross earlier, just forget it.”

“I want to know what you’ve been angry about for two weeks, Louis, because I have noticed,” Harry insists. “What have I done?”

“Two weeks?” Louis laughs, low and spiky and incredulous. “Harry, I’ve been angry about this for _months_. Maybe _years_. I’ve been angry since before we – whatever, Harry, I really don’t see how talking about it’s gonna help anything, just – ”

“You tell me you’ve been angry with me for _years_ about something I don’t know and you want me to drop it? Maybe it’s news to _you_ , Lou, because you’re off having a career and fun and being adored all day and night every day, but I’m here alone being a single parent and when you say shit like that it’s gonna – like, _infect_ my brain!”

Louis’ shoulders tense and when he turns around again, his jaw is set and his hands are clenched. “You know what? Fine. I’m angry because you’re _not_ a single parent, Harry, and you never have been. And you should _know_ that. _My mum_ was a single parent. _Your_ mum was a single parent. You’ve seen what that’s like and you have never, _ever_ had to live like that and – and it’s fucking down to _me_ , and you never – you make me feel like I’m invisible to you when it comes to Millie. I’m just – a blow-up doll that can also baby-sit. 

“ _She’s my daughter, too, Harry_ , and you have _never even noticed_ and – I’m so angry at you that I can’t even _see_.” He covers his mouth with one hand and is shocked by how cold his own fingers are against his lips; Harry’s jaw is set staring at him and Louis knows that he can see Louis’ fingers shaking. “I know you’re with me for convenience for her sake but – fucking at least acknowledge it’s _for her sake_ and stop acting like – I’m still ‘just the baby-sitter.’”

He shakes his head. “Fuck this. Fuck _you_. I’m spending the night at Zayn’s after all.”

Louis storms out – doesn’t even look to Harry or take any clothes – and once he’s gone, Harry grabs an apple from the counter, weighs it in his hand, and walks out onto the fire escape. He takes a deep lungful of cool air, relaxes his shoulders, and throws the apple as hard as he can at the wall of the flat. 

It explodes, leaving a trail of sticky apple-guts sliming down the wall. Harry sits on the balcony and rests the back of his head against the wall, too: utterly defeated.

Once the end of his nose has become so cold that he can’t really stand to be outside, alone and miserable, anymore, he trudges back into the kitchen and rings his mum.

“Harry?” She asks, and he can hear the tea kettle in the background. “Is everyone alright? It’s late.”

“Lou’s – left.” Harry stumbles through the words. “Louis – got angry at me. He left.” He works his jaw, grinding his teeth so hard they ache.

“Oh, sweetheart, what happened?” The sound of the teakettle stops.

“He just – he went mad, Mum,” Harry mumbles. “Started ranting about thinking I don’t see him as a person, and – it’s just so _stupid_. It’s fucking – sorry – it’s _stupid_ , he’s just, he’s got selfish or something since he started working without the rest of us and he thinks – ”

“What does he think, sweetheart?”

“He’s angry that Millie is my daughter?” Harry shakes his head, and sits down right on the floor of the kitchen, head buried in his arm. “I don’t – but she _is_ mine, so I don’t know what he’s on about. It’s not like I could go back in time and have her with him, that’s not even – fucking, sorry, it’s not even possible.”

Anne exhales shortly. “Harry. _You_ are being stupid.”

“What? I’m – ”

“No, Harry, sweetheart, you listen to me right now. Because I love you as much as you love Millie. And Millie is Louis’ daughter, too. And if she loses him because you’ve your head up your arse, I will do something _terrible_ to you. Because Louis is absolutely right that she’s his as much as she’s yours now, and if you’re _still_ not allowing him that, then he has every right to be _fucking_ angry with you.”

“Mum!” Harry squawks, as much in surprise as indignance. “But _she’s not his_ , I’m the one who – I was the only one who wanted her, and – ”

“Until you met Louis, yes. Harry, he chose to live with you and help you raise a baby when he absolutely had no need. He chose to keep living with you even when he thought you were going to be with someone -- _anyone_ else, because he loves her and she loves him and they are _family_.”

“They are family,” Harry interrupts. “But he’s not her dad. I’m her dad.”

“He’s her mup,” Anne explains. “He’s her mup, and in your little family, that’s as good as being another dad. It’s being her mum.”

“ _Her mum didn’t want us_ ,” Harry whispers fiercely, checking over his shoulder to make sure Millie hasn’t clambered out of her bed. 

“I know, sweetheart, and that’s horrible,” Anne says. “It’s very sad for you and for Millie and it always will be a bit sad. But Louis did want you. He _does_ want you. And I know the way you perceived Clare’s feelings makes you paranoid, but you’re being very selfish. If Clare really were as uncaring as you paint her in your mind, she could have really hurt Millie. She could have _really_ damaged her. But she didn’t, because she loved you both just exactly enough to know how much you would love Millie. And frankly, I think Louis’ only stayed quiet about his feelings this long because he knows that, too.” 

Anne’s voice becomes fierce again. “But you have to see now, Harry, how much everyone loves that child, too. It’s not you and Millie against the world anymore. It’s you, and Louis, and Millie, _together_ , with the world. In the world, maybe, and sometimes, yes, you’ll feel like it’s against you but _Louis isn’t_. You don’t have to protect her from _him_.”

“I’m not trying to protect her from him,” Harry whispers. “I know he loves her. And – I know she loves him, too, just…”

“I know you want to be her hero,” Anne says, “And I know it must be especially hard for you with everyone in the papers and all criticizing how you’re raising her. But it’s not just you who’s raising her, and you can’t keep ignoring that. Or he will leave you and he won’t come back, and I can’t say that I blame him. It is very, very hard, Harry, to live every day with someone who you know doesn’t love you enough to see you’re important.”

Harry swallows. His eyes are wet and he stares resolutely at his feet. “I’m not Dad.”

“I know you aren’t,” Anne murmurs. “You are a much better man than your father ever was, and a good lot of that is how much you love your child. But you have to open that love up to include Louis in your idea of her role in your life. How you together, as a couple, are in her life. Because if you can’t make it work to be together and to raise her, then one or the other or both has to change, and _I will make sure the boys kill you if that little girl loses her mup_.”

“I don’t know if I can fix it, Mum,” Harry whispers. “He said he’s been angry for years. Said he can’t even see straight.”

“Well, you have to try,” Anne says. “For Millie’s sake. It’s time to be a real grown-up, Harry, and sit down with Louis and talk out what you need to do for all your sakes. But she’s got to come first, and I want you to think _good and hard_ about how much she loves him and whether _she_ can afford to lose that. You and Louis, if you break up, you’ll lose a boyfriend you love, and that’s sad, but she’ll lose a parent – like it or not – and you _know_ what that’s like.”

“Louis isn’t Dad, either,” Harry mutters. He takes a deep breath. “He’s – a lot better a parent than Dad was.”

“Good,” Anne says sweetly. “Now. Go fix it.”

She hangs up. Harry takes a few minutes to wipe his eyes and steel his resolve. He washes a few dishes. He checks the time – just past half-ten – and makes a decision.

“Where am I?” Millie asks sleepily, a few minutes later, nuzzling her face into Harry’s neck. She keeps slurping on her fingers and yawns until her nose wrinkles.

“Just the elevator, sweetie,” Harry assures her, rubbing her back. She’s wearing her fuzziest pajamas. “We’re going to visit Zayn.”

“Yay,” Millie cheers idly, smudging her runny nose along Harry’s shoulder. 

When Harry and Millie arrive at Zayn’s apartment, Zayn answers the door with a simple, “I’ll take her. Louis’ in the back bedroom.”

“Hi, Zayn,” Millie mutters. She yawns again so hugely that her ankles clack together. “Playtime now?”

“No, Acchi, it’s sleeptime, silly bird,” Zayn says, “Come look, I’ve made you a nest in the living room.”

“Like a den?”

“Sure,” Zayn says. “Like a den. You can burrow in it and such. Eat rats. Whatever.”

“Whoopie-doo,” Millie mutters, and promptly falls asleep again, her head lolling.

Harry kisses the top of her head and inhales. She doesn’t smell like she did when she was a tiny baby, nestled in his arms in his childhood bed, feeding her a bottle at 3AM all alone.

Except for Louis, keeping him company on the telephone.

When Harry knocks on the doorframe of the back bedroom, Louis’ head pops up from the pillow. He clearly hadn’t been sleeping; his eyes are smudgy and his face is blotchy and red and wet. Even his nose is running a bit. Louis is not a pretty crier.

“Hey.”

“I’m still angry with you,” Louis whispers.

“I know,” Harry murmurs. “Can I come in anyway?”

Louis nods. Harry sits down on the edge of the bed and looks at his hands.

“Look, I – when I found out Clare was pregnant, I was really terrified. And I knew she was, too, so I asked her – you know – what she wanted to do. And erm, she said she couldn’t erm, get rid of it, ‘cause she’s – Holmes Chapel is sorta Catholic-y, right, and I said that she could choose whatever she wanted and I’d still – I’d stay with her. And she said that she didn’t… there was nothing to stay with, because we weren’t together. And a baby wouldn’t change that. So, erm, it was like, she was stuck with a guy didn’t want and a baby she didn’t want, so I sort of channeled everything into Millie, basically, right from the first. Because I knew – like, neither of us were wanted, erm, like I said, and I just… I had to make sure she knew, Millie knew, I mean, that someone loved her. And erm, I just I really wanted her to love me back as much. So when I see her with you, and she loves you so much, I get – worried, that you two will decide you don’t want me, either, and erm, that she loves you more, and I know that’s not fair, but it’s how I feel. And I’m sorry it’s made me a dickhead.”

“I don’t want her to love me more’n you,” Louis whispers. His voice is scratchy. Harry wants to reach out and pull Louis in to rest his head on Harry’s chest, but he doesn’t. “I just want to feel like you understand I’m not gonna walk out on you and – it’s safe to just let me into your family with her. I’m not… Mark. Or my dad. I’m not gonna leave her behind, ever.”

“We’re really fucked up, aren’t we?” Harry asks, looking up into Louis’ eyes, finally. “We had horrible dads and it left us fucked up.”

“We’re not gonna do that to Millie,” Louis says firmly. “I promise.”

“My mum said, she said you might not know how much I – we need you,” Harry fumbles. “Louis, we need you so much. I can’t do it by myself, I can’t, I can’t even really handle right now with you at work when I’m not, I need – you, and people, and _help_ , and I just – I’m not really handling it well. Being alone at home.”

“I don’t want you to just need me,” Louis whispers. “’Cause you’ll resent me later on. I don’t want you to resent me.”

“I couldn’t,” Harry promises, and this time he can’t help it, he does reach out and grasp Louis’ hands in both of his. “You’ve saved our lives, basically, and I just – I’ve been so paranoid you don’t love us anymore that it’s made me more selfish than usual, I think. And I’m really sorry. Really, I’m really, really sorry.”

“Of course I love you, stupid,” Louis grumbles. “I loved you for a long time before you decided you loved me.”

“Realized it,” Harry corrects him. “I realized it, not – decided. I really do. I know you don’t believe me, but I really do.” He sighs shakily. “I’ll try harder not to get jealous of how much she cares about you. I – I know you’re not Clare. Your Mark, or your dad. Or my dad. God, we’ve got a bad track record.”

Louis nods. “We do.”

There’s a knock on the doorframe and they both look up to see Zayn’s apologetic face. “A little bird out here is looking for her dad and her mup. Is it alright if she comes in?”

Harry and Louis look at each other, studying, then nod. Millie toddles into the room sleepily, tear tracks on her cheeks, too.

“I have a bad dream,” she explains, trying to pull herself up onto the bed. “I dream the buggies eat me.”

“Well, that’s not good at all,” Louis murmurs, helping her up. She immediately crawls into his arms and curls against him, slurping on her fingers. Louis kisses her head and pats her knee gently.

“No,” Millie agrees. “It was bad. I need my daddy and my muppie to fix it.”

Harry lies down alongside them and kisses Millie’s tiny fingers (the ones not covered in slobber). “We’ll always be there to help fix your problems, won’t we?”

Millie snuffles and nods and beckons _Daddy, up here_ , so Harry slides up to cocoon her safely between Louis and himself until she falls asleep again.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	23. Chapter 23

“Millie, sweetie, are you ready to go?” Harry calls, crouched down to meet Millie’s eye-level, in the doorway of her little schoolroom. Harry makes sure that he’s always the first parent to arrive and that Millie’s cleaned up all of her toys, books, and paints before they leave. 

Jay had assured him that all young parents want to make the best impression they can – she had with Louis (she’d looked sidelong at Louis in the Skype window and teased, _not that he helped himself any_ ), but Harry still worried occasionally that he might look like he was trying _too_ hard, like it was to cover something up. It’s always a gamble about how ready to leave Millie will be: sometimes, she’s delighted to have found a toy or a friend and wrings every last second out of her day at school, and other times, she’s tired or grumpy or excited to leave and see Louis or Lux or Zayn or Danielle after lunch.

“No,” Millie says blithely, and rolls the plastic dump truck across the floor. The back basket is stuffed with dolls. “I have to deliver these prisoners.”

“I see,” Harry says. “And when will you be done?”

“When the dragon is full,” Millie reports, and screeches as though in pain as she dumps the dolls out in front of a big stuffed T-Rex. She mimes the T-Rex eating the dolls and _nom nom nom_ s viciously in her green dress.

“Alright,” Harry mutters, and stands up. He shakes his head and sweeps his hair out of his eyes; there’s a general scuffle of heartstruck toddlers sighing up at him. “Well, try to make him eat fast, okay?”

“I not can rush him,” Millie informs him primly. “He is the boss.”

Harry shakes his head, and a few of the other parents – much his senior – titter at him. 

Millie’s teacher, Clara, smiles at him sympathetically. “Actually, Mr. Styles, while you’re here and she’s occupied – I did have a concern to discuss with you.”

Harry’s heart pounds a bit. “Oh, really?”

“Yes, why don’t we step into my office?” 

Harry follows her and surreptitiously rubs at his chest where his heart’s still going a bit mad. He folds himself into the little seat across her desk and scrubs at his hair and waits.

“Don’t look so worried!” Clara assures him. “There’s just a strange issue that’s arisen, and your daughter is awfully headstrong about it.”

After the meeting, Harry shakes Clara’s hand and gives her gracious thanks for letting him know about Millie’s little problem, then crosses over to where Millie is still futzing with the dump truck and dolls. He ruffles his fingers into her messy hair and strokes her head with his thumb. “Are you ready to go, little bean?”

Millie turns her face to nuzzle into the side of his knee. “No. I am playing.”

“I know you are, sweetie, but it’s time to leave so everyone can have lunch and clean up before the afternoon students come for their classes,” Harry explains. “Come on, let’s get up. We can get pizza for lunch.”

“I want fish and chips,” Millie argues even as she pushes herself to her feet. “I have a hankerin’.”

“A hankering, huh?” Harry keeps his hand rested gently on her head as they plod out of the room. “That sounds serious.”

“It is serious,” Millie agrees. “Serious as a leopard.”

“Are leopards rather serious?” Harry asks, buckling her into her carseat.

Millie nods, her green eyes very round. “Yes, Daddy. Do not be silly about leopards.”

Harry kisses her forehead. “Okay.”

While they’re eating lunch – so Millie can’t scamper off – Harry wipes his mouth and reaches across the table to gently tap the back of Millie’s hand. “Millie, I was talking to Miss Clara earlier and she says you’ve a problem writing your name.”

Millie scowls. “I do not. I write my name.”

“I know you can write very well,” Harry praises her. “So what’s going on?”

“Miss Clara say I write my name wrong. I do not. I get angry and eat a crayon. I get to dis’pline chair.”

Harry pulls a terrible face. “Well, don’t do that, bean, that’s not good at all. Why does she think you’re writing your name wrong?”

“I don’t know!” Millie shrugs, eyes wide. “I write good.”

“You write _well_ ,” Harry corrects. “Can you write your name for me on some paper?”

Millie nods, so Harry hands her a pad of paper and a crayon. Millie writes and holds it up. “See? I write my name.”

The paper just says ‘B.’

“What d’you think that says?” Harry asks gently.

“I am Bee!” Millie insists. “That is my name.”

“Names can’t be just one letter,” Harry points out. “What else could be your name?”

“Okay,” Millie says crossly, and changes the paper to read ‘be.’ “B-E. Bee. I no am wrong. I seen this word.”

“That’s true,” Harry admits. “‘Be’ is a word. But names are usually longer than two letters, also.”

“AJ is not,” Millie says spikily. “Su is not.”

“Alright, that’s true also. But… sweetie, what d’you think when Mup and I call you ‘Millie’?”

“That is my name,” Millie agrees. “That is my name from you. Acchi is my name from Zayn. Pretty is my name from Danielle. Lil’miss is my name from Grannanna. Bee is my name from me. I am Bee!”

“I see. What about when other people call you Millie?”

Millie shrugs and vengefully bites off more fish finger. “That is just what grown-ups calls kids. Millies.”

Harry smiles at her fondly and gently wipes grease and vinegar from her face. “Sweetheart… do you want me and Mup to start calling you ‘Bee’? Is that the name you want?”

“No,” Millie assures him. “You call me Millie ‘cause you love me. That is your love-name for me.” She leans down and nuzzles against the side of his hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, little bean,” Harry murmurs, and chucks her cheek with his thumb. “Now eat your fish fingers.”

“I want pizza,” Millie whines… but eats her fish all the same.

•••

It’s still hard to balance things out while Louis works long hours, but he and Harry are both putting forth a more concerted effort. After dinner – or whenever Louis gets home – is designated specifically Mup And Millie Time, and Harry isn’t allowed to second-guess or interfere, even when Louis decides to pump her full of mint-chip ice cream at 8PM and she’s bouncing off the walls. And Millie knows that once she goes to bed and her door gets closed, unless she’s sick or has a _very_ bad dream, it’s designated Harry And Louis Time, and she isn’t allowed to climb out of bed and come find them, even if she thinks she smells pizza or remembers a story from school to tell them. It can wait until the morning.

“We’re like proper adults now,” Louis tells Harry glumly one night in bed. Louis’ glasses are perched on his nose as he scrolls through his iPad, and Harry’s reading another book Zayn lent him. “With rules and sexless nights together and a grumpy kid and all.”

“That’s true,” Harry says. “But it was bound to happen sometime, wasn’t it?”

“I guess so,” Louis mutters. “I just hoped it’d be a while yet. I’m only just nearly twenteen and twenty-four months.”

“You’re only just ridiculous, is what you are,” Harry laughs, and uses his book to thwap Louis in the arm once. “You’ve got to stop being so afraid of getting older. It’s not anything scary.”

“Says you!” Louis says. “You’re still a pert, young nineteen-year-old. You’ve no idea that I have plans to leave you for someone perkier and suppler once you turn the cragged age of twenty.”

“That’s not funny,” Harry sniffs. “I will still have more than enough perk when I’m twenty.” He looks over his shoulder and mock-glares at Louis, considering him. He throws the book over the side of the bed and decisively sets the iPad down on the bedside table as he rolls himself over Louis, pinning Louis’ arms to the headboard. “I’ll show you perk.”

The next morning, Louis wakes before Harry for a change and blinks at the sunlight spilling through their blinds. It’s the ninth week, which means that he’s headed off for the next five days to travel around the UK – no Irish finalists this year, to Niall’s disgruntlement – with Caroline, interviewing family members, ex-teachers, and school chums of the final four contestants on the show. And of course two of the finalists are really groups, which makes for three and five separate interview tours respectively. In a few hours, he’ll be off to Llanwrtyd Wells in Wales.

Louis rolls and stretches and bumps sleeping Harry, who grumbles and turns his face into the pillow. Louis laughs through his nose and presses a kiss to the back of Harry’s shoulder, warm from blankets. Then he grunts and heaves himself out of bed, stepping into his favorite moose slippers on his way out the door.

He knocks on Millie’s door softly.

“I am awake!” Millie confirms, and he can hear her bouncing on her bed. “Come in, please!”

Louis smiles and opens the door, and Millie keeps bouncing on her mattress. “Good morning, little bean.”

“Good morning, mine Muppie,” Millie echoes. She stops bouncing and topples over, then pushes herself up and swipes her hair out of her face in a perfect mimic of Harry. “It is morning! Why are you up?”

Louis laughs and plucks her out of bed, swinging her in the air before settling her on his hip. “I guess I’m not usually this early, am I?” Millie shakes her head. “No, I suppose not. Well, I am today. D’you want to help me make some breakfast?”

Millie eyes him suspicious. “I not can use knifes or the ovens.”

“I know that!” Louis tickles her tummy. “I can, though.”

“Without the fire kestinguisher?”

“Without the fire extinguisher,” Louis confirms. “Don’t you remember my Magic Breakfast Sandwiches? No? Well, then it’s been far too long since we’ve made one; let’s go.”

Louis shows Millie how to crack eggs on the side of a bowl and pick out the pieces of shell, and while Louis fries up the sandwiches, Millie sets the table with plastic tumblers and plates and silverware. Then Louis pats her head and murmurs _go wake up Daddy_ and Millie kisses his nose before scampering off. Louis hears a bounding jump and an _ooph, lil’bean, you’re squishing my lungs!_ and chuckles. 

A few minutes later, they’re still not in the kitchen, so Louis’ brow furrows and he wanders into the living room – and promptly starts laughing.

Harry is lying on the floor just outside their bedroom, eyes closed but clearly trying (and failing) not to laugh. Millie is yanking on his hand, trying doggedly to pull him into the kitchen.

“ _Come on, Daddy_ ,” she growls, pulling at his arm and stomping her feet. “Wake up!”

“No,” Harry mutters. “I’m still sleeping.”

“Wake up now!” Millie insists, and abandons his arm, panting, to run around behind him and start pushing his shoulders up. “Gotta eat breakfast! Gotta be healthy! Wake up time!” 

Harry can’t hide the laughter anymore and has to sit up to stop coughing as he doubles over, tears on his face. He pulls Millie into his lap and tickles her until she’s squirming and shrieking with laughter, too, and Louis is slumped against the kitchen doorframe because he can’t even hold himself up.

As far as mornings go, it’s the best any of them have had for a long time. 

Louis doesn’t leave for Wales until Harry’s dropped Millie off at school. He drives Louis to Heathrow after and they duck into a tiny hole-in-the-wall waffle shop before getting to the airport so Harry can buy a smoothie and kiss Louis with lips that taste like passionfruit and mango. 

“Have fun,” he murmurs as he nuzzles Louis’ nose. “Don’t make things too hard for Cazza.”

“No, she keeps me right in line,” Louis assures him, then pecks another kiss to Harry’s lips.

“I should ask her for tips.” Harry grins this time as he kisses Louis’ indignant yowl right out of his mouth.

After school, Harry knocks on the frame of Millie’s bedroom door softly, even though he can clearly see that she’s sitting on her bed pawing through _The Tiger Who Came to Tea_. 

She smiles at him and scratches her nose. “Hi, Daddy. I am having a quiet time.”

“Can I interrupt you?”

“Sure,” Millie shrugs, nodding. She scoots over on her bed and pats her pillows, and Harry can’t help grinning as he bounds over and jumps onto the bed so Millie bounces and shrieks a giggle. Harry catches her and pulls her into his lap. He smooths down her raucous curls and kisses the top of her head.

“How was school today?” he asks, looking down at Millie’s face.

She shrugs. “The same.”

“The same?” Harry confirms. He starts to comb through her curls gently with his fingers, separating out the snarls. “I got a letter home today in your rucksack that you’re learning about families this week. What’s that like?”

“Good.” Millie reaches up and grabs his hand to pull it out of her hair. “Do not touch the hair.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Zayn,” Harry chuckles. Then he sobers and touches Millie’s chin softly so she’ll look up at him. “How do you think your family is compared to other kids’ families?”

Millie’s brow creases. “Good?”

Harry tilts his head. “Well, I’m glad you think it's good. I mean, d’you notice anything… different?”

Millie shrugs. “Erm… there is one kid, Jack, do not have a dad like Mup do not have a dad, but I got a dad. And Mary S. got a cousins, and I got no cousins. Su got a grandma who lives in her house! I wish mine grandmas lived in our house! And no one else got a Mup.”

Harry kisses her forehead. “Are you happy?”

Millie lays her hand on Harry’s face. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Nothing,” Harry assures her. “I just wanted to make sure that you’re happy. Am I a good dad?”

Millie pats his face. “The best dad I got.”

“You only got one dad, silly goose!” Harry argues, tickling Millie’s sides fiercely. She shrieks and wriggles and Harry tickles her until she wilts over, her eyes crossed and tongue out. As soon as he stops, Millie pounces on him and pokes her fingers into his ribs, trying to tickle and really more maiming, but Harry fakes a laugh anyway and flops backwards across her mattress, his own eyes crossed and tongue lolling out, too. 

Millie crawls up the mattress and pokes his cheek. “Are you died?”

“Yes,” Harry says, not opening his eyes. “You’ve killed me. Now you’re gonna have to clean up after Mup.”

“No!” Millie cries, clinging onto his chest. “Come back, Daddy!”

Harry sits up and cries, _It’s a miracle!_ , and swings Millie up into his arms to go start making tea. 

In the rest of the week, Millie deals mostly well with Louis’ absence, although she does get a bit sullen and quiet the longer he’s gone. By Saturday night, she’s content to stay alone in her room, playing with Bobo – reclaimed from Lux, who had never taken to the salamander – by reading him books about bigger lizards and reptiles.

“You can grow up to be crocodile,” she tells him in a cooing, indulgent voice. “Just look. Study this face.”

Harry leaves her be, taking the time to finish laundry and run things over with a vacuum again. He throws out the old crap Louis leaves in the refrigerator ‘for later’ and calls his mum. Being a homemaker might not be as exciting as being a popstar, but he’s found that it can still be just as nonstop – in a good way, if he makes it – and he’s getting better at not being resentful of the other boys. At eight o’clock, he settles down on the sofa with a can of Coke.

“Millie!” Harry calls, “D’you want to watch Liam and Zayn and Niall and Mup on the telly?”

“No!” Millie yells from her room. “I am playing!”

“D’you want to watch X-Factor?” Harry tries again.

Millie dashes out of her room with feet thudding hard on the carpeting. “I am coming; I am coming!”

Harry shakes his head and turns up the volume on ITV.

After Xtra Factor ends, Millie is sleepy and limp against Harry’s shoulder.

“Daddy?” she mumbles. “I miss Muppie.”

“I do, too, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Come on. Let’s go to sleep, okay?”

Millie nods and slides off the couch. She trips over her own in-turned toes on the way to her bedroom, but Harry props her up and kisses her cheek. “It’s okay, little bean. Let’s get your jammies on.”

Louis comes home a few hours later, tipsy and happy from a successful week’s run of taping. He nuzzles the back of Harry’s neck as he slides into bed, and Harry groans softly before reaching back to rub his hand over Louis’ side.

“You’re back.”

“I am,” Louis confirms, and kisses over Harry’s shoulder, his hands sliding on Harry’s hips. “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” Harry murmurs, and rolls over. He hums as Louis kisses him, slow and sweet; they keep kissing and murmuring softly even as Louis reaches between Harry’s legs to coax him to full hardness and opens himself on his own fingers. Harry reaches blindly into the nightstand for a perfunctory glaze of lube, and Louis rides Harry deep and lazily in the dark. When Louis comes, it splashes at Harry’s neck.

After Louis’ rolls off him and they lie beside each other on top of the sheets, panting, Harry props himself up on his elbows and mutters, “Fuck, forgot a condom, didn’t we?”

Louis reaches down and makes a terrible face.

“It’s alright,” he grumps. “Was good while it lasted. And on that note, I am going to take a shower.”

Louis comes back smelling clean and crisp and he settles into bed behind Harry, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist as he sleeps. “Good night, H. I love you. I’m glad to be home.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry mutters sleepily. “Good one.”

Louis chuckles and kisses Harry’s ear, then settles down to sleep.

In the morning, Harry wakes as usual and kisses Louis hand as he peels Louis’ arm away from his ribs. Louis grumbles and rolls over to smush his face in the pillows, red creases over his cheek from sleeping on them wrong.

Harry cracks his back, then heads to Millie’s room and knocks on her door. “Bean? You awake?”

“I am up,” she says. “Come in, please.”

Harry opens her door and bends down over her gate to kiss her cheek. “Good morning, sweetie.”

“Good morning, Daddy. It is feeding day!”

“That’s right,” Harry agrees. He lifts her out of the bed and sets her down on her feet. “Go say hello to Bobo and I’ll get him some tasty flies, okay?”

Millie nods and trots over to the aquarium, but when Harry returns, a small box of five live flies in one hand, he can tell right away that something is very wrong.

“Daddy?” Millie’s lip quivers and she looks up at him. “Bobo is dry.”

Harry’s heart beats a bit faster and he sets the box of flies down on her bedside table to crouch down beside her by the aquarium. “Is he? Let’s take him out and give him a good look, okay?”

Millie nods, but her eyes are very, very round. She scoots close to Harry and nuzzles her face into his arm as he reaches into the tank and pulls Bobo out from under his sleeping rock, but before he’s got him in his palm, he can tell the salamander is dead.

“He did not wake up when I poke him,” Millie whimpers, squeezing Harry’s bicep with her clammy little hands. “He needs his food, Daddy, wake him up!”

Harry closes his eyes and kisses Millie’s forehead. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I can’t wake Bobo up.”

Millie’s eyes fill with tears and her nose goes pink. “Is Bobo died?”

“Yes, sweetie,” Harry murmurs. He nuzzles the side of her head and gives her ear a little kiss. “I’m sorry, baby beans.”

Millie whimpers and shakes Harry’s arm. “Why did he died? I am nice to him! I love him!”

“I know, sweetheart. You were very nice to him,” Harry whispers, and it’s stupid, but he feels all choked up for this stupid useless amphibian and he has to clear his throat to say a word. “Sometimes things just die. It is not your fault.”

Millie absolutely loses it. She starts _bawling_ all over Harry’s shoulder and Harry shushes her gently as he sets Bobo back down on the sleeping rock so he can pull Millie into his arms. “Hey, it’s alright, little bean. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

“No,” she sobs, “Bobo is died and Muppie leaved me and I do not want to be okay!”

“Oh, sweetie,” Harry murmurs. “Muppie didn’t leave you. He’s never gonna leave you, alright? Come on, let’s go find him.”

“He is gone,” Millie sobs. “And Bobo is died.”

“Come on, sweetie,” Harry whispers, and lifts her up so she can keep crying into his neck. “Shh.”

“No!” Millie yells, and thumps her fist on Harry’s arm. “I wanna be mad and sad and cry!”

“Alright, bean, just no hitting,” Harry acquiesces, rubbing her back. He shoulders open the bedroom door with his other arm and sits down on the side of the bed. He rubs Louis’ shoulder and Louis grumbles, rolling over. Millie is crying too hard to notice, so Harry shakes Louis’ shoulder again and Louis rolls over and peers blearily at him with the one eye not crushed by the pillow. He takes one look at Millie and bolts upright, settling a hand on her back.

“What’s happened?” he asks in a panicky voice, rubbing her back softly. “What’s happened, Bean?”

“Muppie!” she sobs, and flings herself out of Harry’s arms and into Louis’ lap. “You are not gone from me!”

“No, sweetiebeans, I’m not gone,” Louis soothes, and kisses her sweaty, snotty, tear-clouded red face. “What’s happened?”

“Bobo is died!” she informs him, and her hands come up to cover her face.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Louis hums, pulling her closer to cradle her to his chest. “It’s alright. He had a very happy life with you.”

Harry calls the nursery and Louis keeps rocking Millie in his arms, murmuring silly stories about cheese and the moon, like when she was the tiniest baby. They trade her back so Louis can call the studio and Caroline and tell them that there’s been a bit of a family emergency and he won’t be in until Monday. They try to wheedle Millie into eating some breakfast, but she keeps pushing everything away and crying dramatically into her arms at the table, so Harry just eats an apple while Louis quickly shovels some cornflakes. Millie cries so hard she gives herself a wicked case of hiccups and keeps gagging as she tries to _hic_ and sob at the same time, so Harry loses his patience and cups her chin firmly in one hand and tells her to _calm it down and breathe right now or you’ll faint_ and keeps holding her face until she’s reduced the crying to a shaky sniffle.

Louis carries her off to take a bath since her hair is all sweaty and her eyes and nose are nearly swollen shut. Harry cleans out the aquarium and searches the flat until he finds an old shoebox they can use to bury Bobo in the complex’s garden.

They each give a little speech about what Bobo meant to them, Louis and Harry both faking their way through, all bundled in their coats and hats and gloves. Harry- and Louis’ knuckles bump as they both try to smooth through Millie’s tangled hair around her earmuffs as she drops a flower onto the little mound of dirt that marks the grave, and then Muppie crouches down behind her and murmurs, “Come on, sweetie, it’s cold. Let’s make a hot chocolate, okay?”

Millie nods with the saddest little face, and Louis scoops her up and carries her inside, where Harry makes hot chocolate properly – melted chocolate and cream and brown sugar and all.

Millie gets sick and throwing up a chocolate mess all over the couch later, from crying all morning and swallowing so much of her own tears and spit and snot and then drinking a lot of milk, so they just have clear chicken soup for dinner before sending her to bed early.

“What a terrible day,” Harry sighs, rubbing his eyes miserably. 

“She loves big for such a small person,” Louis agrees, and kisses Harry’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get to bed, too. I’m wiped.”

They’re sitting awake quietly in bed an hour later, Louis on his iPad as usual and Harry still trying to make it through the same borrowed book from Zayn, when there’s a tiny knock on the door.

“Come in, please?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Harry calls, marking his book. The knob turns and Millie pads in, her cheeks stained with tear-tracks again. She’s wearing her fuzziest red pajamas and looks like a tiny, sad Elmo Monster. “Are you alright?”

“Mine tummy hurts,” Millie mumbles, and rubs it.

“I know, sweetie, you got sick,” Harry agrees. “Are you going to be sick again? Were you sick in your bed?”

“No.” Millie shakes her head. “Not hurt like that. Hurt like my feelings.”

“I see,” Louis says. “Did you just want a cuddle?”

Millie nods miserably, and Harry pats the blankets to invite her up. She takes two tries to clamber onto the bed, since theirs is so much taller than hers, but tucks her way right between Harry and Louis once she’s up. 

She blinks and looks up at Harry with wide, pink-rimmed eyes. “I have a question, also.”

“Okay, little bean.” Harry pets her hair out of her face. “What is it?”

Millie takes a deep breath and lets it out shakily. “Is my mum died?”

Harry’s heart feels like it’s stopped, then speeds to triple-time. He looks desperately at Louis over Millie’s head, and Louis shrugs and nods. He mouths, _why not?_

Harry closes his eyes and shakes his head, petting through Millie’s hair again. “No, sweetie. She’s not dead.”

“Oh.”

“Why’d’you ask that, Millie?” Louis asks, and rests his hand on Millie’s tummy since she keeps rubbing it sadly. 

Millie shrugs. “There is two kids in my school, Mary F. and Dhaval, they got no mums ‘cause their mums died. I got no mum, neither.”

“That’s true,” Harry whispers, his throat dry. He coughs. “D’you – want a mum?”

This time it’s Louis’ heart that feels off somehow, and behind Millie’s back, Harry reaches out to wrap his fingers around Louis’ wrist comfortingly.

“I don’t know,” Millie says honestly. “Why do I got none?”

She looks up from Louis’ pale face to Harry’s closed eyes.

Harry licks his lip and squeezes Louis’ wrist, caressing it with his thumb. “Because you got a mup instead, little bean. And he loves you so much that you didn’t need a mum anymore.”

“Oh,” Millie says, and beams a megawatt – albeit watery – smile at Louis. 

This time, it’s Louis who sniffles, and he bends down to kiss the top of Millie’s head for such a long time that she finally giggles and pushes at his neck and says, “Muppie, your nose-breath is tickling me!”

•••

“I want to do it!” Millie yells, pulling at the leg of Louis’ pajamas. “My tree!”

“Milliebean, it’s _our_ tree,” Louis corrects her, yawning, as he steps out of her grasp. “And it’s very fragile.”

“I am careful!” Millie insists. She catches right back up to him and tugs at his pants again. “I wanna do it!”

“Har _old_ ,” Louis calls, not looking at her. “Get your Christmas orphan away from my tree.”

“Milliebean,” Harry calls – wheedling – from the kitchen. “Do you want to make some gingerbread men?”

“No!” Millie shrieks. “I wanna do the tree!”

“Do you want to make some gingerbread _girls_?” Harry tries again. “You can make pink icing.”

This sets Millie to a pause, still clutching the leg of Louis’ trackies but not yanking anymore. Moment of silence much obliged, Louis hangs another bauble from a higher branch of the tree.

“Okay,” Millie decides, and goes running pell-mell off to the kitchen. “Only the girls! You make the men!”

Harry scoops her up from the floor just as she’s about to reach the kitchen door and he carries her, flailing, into the kitchen to plunk her down on the counter. 

“Apron,” Millie demands, holding out her arms. Harry digs under the counter for her gingham apron and maneuvers it around her curls before tying it in a bow over her belly. “Hat,” Millie reminds him, and he smooths her curls down to fit the white chef’s hat snugly down onto her head.

“You good?” Harry asks, tweaking her cheek.

Millie nods. Eyes shining and huge and almost black with overexcitement, Millie looks up at him with pink-tinged cheeks and flapping hands. “Daddy, it is Christmas.”

“That’s right,” Harry agrees. He ties on his own apron because Millie likes it when they match and then goes to the cupboard for the big mixing bowl. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Do you know who comes over tomorrow?”

“Father Christmas!” Millie crows.

“Well, yes,” Harry admits. “But also… Gramma and Robin and Gemma and Gramma Jay and Dan and Lottie, Fizz, Daisy, and Phoebe are coming tomorrow.”

Quite contrarily to his expectations, Millie frowns. “Why?”

“For Christmas, sillypants,” Harry says. He gives her leg a little jiggle. “Why the long face?”

“I do not want Father Christmas to give my presents to them,” Millie says tetchily. “They not will like them. I am more smaller and they don’t like toys. I do.”

“You’re right,” Harry agrees. “So they haven’t asked Father Christmas for toys. He doesn’t mess up who gets what gifts. Don’t worry. Plus… I bet they’ll bring you more gifts, too. But you should be happier to see them than to get presents, Millie.”

“Why?” 

“Because they’re your family,” Harry explains. He measures out the 750 grams of flour and dumps it in the bowl. “And they love you. Don’t you love them?”

“Yes,” Millie says. “I want to stir.”

“Okay, hold on,” Harry placates. “Just a few more ingredients in. Here, this smells nice, smell it – don’t put your nose _on_ it, just sniff – there we go.” He holds the cloves beneath her nose and lets her hold his wrist as she leans down to smell the spicy scent. 

“Mmm,” she hums happily. Harry smiles down at her and bends to kiss her forehead. He adds the rest of the dry ingredients and sets the bowl aside. In a second bowl, he starts to mix the wet ingredients; Millie gets a sniff of the molasses and vanilla and Harry lets her eat a little chunk of brown sugar before they wash up her hands in the sink and he finally hands her the spoon. Millie mixes vigorously while Harry holds both her and the bowl steady on the counter.

“What’s your favorite part of Christmas?” Harry asks her curiously as gingerbread liquid sloshes the sides of the bowl. “And what gift do you want most?”

Millie waffles for a moment, tongue poking from between her teeth as she works the spoon. “I like the lights,” she finally decides. “And I want three things mostly.”

Harry adds a few spoonfuls of the dry mix to the wet and helps her stir them in. “What three things?” 

“I want a Monster High doll, a chameleon, and – ” Millie trails off, kicking her feet as she keeps stirring. She grunts when the dough gets thicker and harder to stir with more flour added in, but shakes her head obstinately when Harry offers to finish it off. 

“Well, I think Monster High dolls are for older than you,” Harry says carefully. “Why do you want a chameleon?”

“They change colors,” Millie informs him. “I seen it on Green Balloon Club. I want to make one pink.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “You know they eat flies, too, right? You’d have to touch bugs to feed it?”

“Mup can do that,” Millie says dismissively, and Harry can’t help laughing. Then Millie pants and lets go of the spoon. “This is too much dough for me.”

“Okay,” Harry chuckles, taking the spoon and adding in the rest of the dry. “Let’s wrap it up like a present.”

“It is done?” Millie asks skeptically, looking at the bowl. “It looks like baby food. Like Luxie eats.”

“It’s not done, but it’s got to get in the refrigerator for a while and we’ll cut the cookies out and decorate them after tea,” Harry explains. “Budge your legs; I need to get into the drawer.”

Harry wraps the blob of dough in some plastic and sets it in the fridge. Millie’s managed to cover herself with flour and butter and, much like powder and lotion, they’ve made a paste. He takes one look at her and shakes his head. “Bath time, messy bean.” 

Millie sighs. “Again?”

“Well, you keep getting dirty,” Harry says, swinging her off the counter with an exaggerated dip that makes her shriek and giggle. “Maybe if you just sat _very_ still all day and all night and never moved or had fun… you could take fewer baths.”

“Daddy?” Millie asks thoughtfully, her hair wet, as she squeezes a blob of pink icing onto one of the cookies, “How do you know how to make gingerbread girls?”

“I used to work in a bakery,” Harry tells her. He frosts a few stripes onto his gingerbread man.

Millie laughs. “No, you did not! You are a singer!”

“Well, it was a long time ago,” Harry says. “Before you were born.”

Millie looks up at Harry with shock in her eyes and a long squiggle of icing down the side of her face, matted into her curly fringe. “You were alive before I was born?”

Harry laughs and gently wipes her face with a paper towel. “Of course I was, goofy. How’d you think I’m older than you?”

“I don’t know!” Millie says earnestly. “Was Mup alive before me?”

“Yes,” Harry says. “And so were Liam and Niall and Zayn and Danielle and mostly everyone except Lux. You’re a very new person.”

Millie’s brow furrows and she thinks about this for a minute. “What did you do before I was alive?”

“I don’t know. I went to school and sang in a band. But it wasn’t with Mup,” Harry says absently. He ices another cookie.

“Why not?” Millie sounds indignant.

“I met him right before you were born,” Harry explains. “And I lived with Gramma Anne and Robin and Gemma in Holmes Chapel.”

“Where did Mup live?”

“With Gramma Jay and his sisters in Doncaster,” Harry says patiently. 

“Why did not you live together?” Millie asks. She’s completely given up on making cookies at this point and instead crawls under the table to wriggle up into Harry’s lap, gripping his lapels with smudgy frosting fingers.

“We didn’t know each other yet,” Harry repeats. He kisses her head and she smells like sugar. “But we know each other now. And we have you.” He tickles her belly. “Right?”

“Right,” Millie agrees, giggling and burrowing into his chest. All the same, she still seems troubled. Harry lets her stew it out, nestled into his lap as he ices the rest of the cookies, humming carols softly in Millie’s ear. She presses her face into the little triangle of skin at the opening of his collar and Harry cuddles her with his chin against the top of her head. 

She doesn’t even complain when Harry stands up and carries her off for another bath to get the frosting out of her hair. She barely even plays with her bubbles as he soaps her curls and rinses them out, carefully avoiding her big eyes. He’s able to coax a giggle from her when he shimmies her dry with her Pingu towel, but her lips are still pouty.

Sitting beside her on her bed, the gate rested on the floor, Harry finally looks down at Millie and asks, “Alright. What’s wrong, bean?”

Millie frowns. “What if I never been born? Would you live with Mup?”

Harry sighs and settles down to share her pillow. He’d still have tried out for X-Factor, surely. And the judges hadn’t known about Millie until later, so they probably would have still become a group. If they’d been a group, they likely would have made it to the finals, still. “Probably. I suspect we would. Mup and I love each other and we love you. You know that.”

“Okay.” Millie blinks at him. “What if you never been born? Would I live with Mup?”

“Well, if I’d never been born, neither would you,” Harry says.

“Why?”

Harry shrugs. “’Cause I’m your dad. You couldn’t be born without me.”

“Why?”

“That’s – complicated. But,” Harry offers, leaning up on his elbow. “See how you and me have the same hair?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s because – like – basically – like, where you came from is like, basically, a very small piece of me got made into you. And that’s where you come from. So if I never was born, you couldn’t be born, because there’d be no me to make into you.”

Millie nods. “That makes sense.”

“Does it?” Harry asks, surprised. “Well, good.”

“What if Mup never been born?” Millie persists. “Would there be a Bee?”

“Yes,” Harry says. “And you’d live with me. And either we’d live here in London together or we’d live in Holmes Chapel with Gramma Anne.”

“Where did Mup come from?”

“A little piece of Gramma Jay,” Harry says. “He’s not made from me. Otherwise he’d have curly hair, and he’d look _silly_ with curls, wouldn’t he?”

Millie thinks about this a moment and her face breaks into a grin. “Yes!”

Harry tickles her again and when Millie attempts to tickle him back with toddler-claws, he flops back down like a dead fish and peers up at her with one eye. Patting her pillow, he says, “Okay, little bean. It’s time to go to sleep.”

“ _Christmas_ sleep!” Millie points out and wriggles beneath her covers. 

“That’s right,” Harry agrees. He leans down so Millie can nuzzle their noses together. “Christmas sleep. You’ve got to sleep really well, you know, because it’s the most important night of the year to be a good girl for Father Christmas to come tomorrow.”

Millie immediately shuts her eyes and goes still as a board. She whispers “night-night, Daddy” through pursed lips.

Harry chuckles, kisses her forehead, and fits the gate back onto the side of her bed. He flashes the lights once and hears the sofa squeak as Louis heaves himself up and pads over to Millie’s room, where he leans over the gate and kisses Millie’s forehead and nose and chin in quick succession.

Millie giggles and glares up at him. “Mup, I gotta sleep good for Father Christmas so he brings me a chameleon. Do not make me laugh.”

Louis grins. “Okay. Sorry, baby beans.” He pulls her blankets up to her chin and Millie fiddles around for a moment, kicking her legs until they get comfortable. 

“Good-night,” she says pointedly, and Harry and Louis exchange a wry smile as Harry flicks off the lights and they shut her door.

Arm slung around Harry’s waist, Louis leads the way into their bedroom and shuts their own door, clicking the light off on the way. Harry picks his way across the floor and their bed _shush_ es softly as Harry drops down onto it and reaches up to flick on the small lamp, filling the room with a pale yellow glow.

He yawns and stretches luxuriously, back cracking and socked toes digging into the foot of their mattress, curls all askew on the pillow; his shirt’s pulled up over the hollows of his hipbones and Louis smiles down at him with his chest a bit tight because he forgets, actually, during the day sometimes that Harry is so beautiful like this.

Louis strips off his shirt and drops it on the floor before he sidles over to the bed and slides over Harry; his mouth finds the strip of soft skin beneath Harry’s navel for an open-mouthed kiss as he slides down Harry’s soft pants. He maneuvers them over Harry’s knobby knees and drops them over the side of the bed. Harry’s hand comes down to stroke through Louis’ hair absently as Louis mouths between Harry’s hips, smudging kisses slowly.

He looked up when Harry didn’t rumble-groan encouragement. “What’s up?”

“Sorry,” Harry mutters. “I’m thinking.”

Louis rests his head on Harry’s stomach, his chin digging in a bit just where it used to get concave, back when he was eating too little and working too much at the same time. “What’cha thinking about?”

Harry props himself up on one elbow and looks down at Louis. “Millie asked where she came from.”

“Well, that’s quite awkward,” Louis says. “Thanks for not calling me in for that one.”

“She’s three,” Harry admonishes, eyes wide. “I didn’t tell her about sex. I just – I told her she was made from a little piece of me. And… I’m wondering whether I should have finally told her about Clare.”

“No,” Louis mulls. “Not on the day before Christmas hols. That’s not the sort of thing you spring on a kid just before Father Christmas; her brain’s all muddled up with thinking about chameleons and such anyway. Best to save it for when she’s a bit older and a bit more – I don’t know. When it matters. When she asks, I think, then you should tell her. Otherwise… if she’s happy.” Louis shrugs and his chin makes Harry exhale on an _ooph_. “Let it be.”

“Speaking words of wisdom.” Harry smiles down at Louis with slow-blinking eyes and pouting lips. 

Louis smiles back and tips his face to kiss the space between Harry’s ribs again. “Just here to help.”

“No, you’re not,” Harry murmurs. “You’re here ‘cause you should be. Now come up here and kiss me, stupid.”

“There’s no mistletoe,” Louis says petulantly, but slinks up along the length of Harry’s body anyway and leans down to kiss him in small bites and luxurious licks. Harry sighs and runs his hands down Louis’ spine, thumbing over his smooth skin and the dimples at the base of Louis’ hips; slowly he presses his hands under the soft fabric and over the swell of Louis’ arse. Louis mumbles into Harry’s mouth and rocks down against him; urging, but patient and quiet.

When Harry’s breath is coming in short, cold bursts through his teeth and Louis’ given up the pretense entirely of kissing and has buried his face into Harry’s collarbone, one thin hand shoved up beneath Harry’s t-shirt to let his fingers rub teasing circles over Harry’s nipple, Harry finally pushes Louis’ soft trackies down and off and shoves down his own boxer-briefs so they’re naked against each other, hard and swollen and slick.

Louis grinds down against him again and hums lowly as Harry’s long fingers press down hard and Harry groans gravelly and dry into Louis’ ear. Harry flips them over and bears Louis down into the pillows, cradled between Louis’ bones, and holds Louis’ hips, tilting them up and counterpoint, circling into Harry’s thrusts as they rub and slide against each other and Louis’ fingers come up to scratch through Harry’s hair, tugging at the roots and making Harry curse and stutter and come, hot and wet over Louis’ skin.

“Touch me,” Louis whispers, pushing up into Harry’s hips again, but Harry does him one better and drops down between Louis’ legs, pushing them wide over his shoulders and licking until Louis tenses and comes with a shiver that Harry can feel down to the base of Louis’ spine and into his thighs.

“ _Whooph_ ,” Louis exhales, shuddery and spent. “Happy birthday to me. Getting older mightn’t be so bad after all.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	24. Chapter 24

They wake the next morning to a 16-kg bowling ball rocketing into their bed and jumping up and down, stumbling over their ankles.

“It’s Christmas!” Millie screeches, foot catching on Louis’ knee, tumbling over to land elbow-first on Harry’s bladder. “Wake up time, please!”

“I think my knee’s broken,” Louis grouses, reaching out blindly to swipe for Millie’s arm to stop her jumping. “Harry, y’alright?”

“I think I weed a bit,” Harry mutters. “Millie, sweetie, your elbow’s right on some bits that hurt; can you move, please?”

“I can move out of bed to the tree,” Millie offers. “It’s Christmas!”

Harry has to laugh, and rubs his face. “Alright, alright bean, we get it. We’re getting up.”

“Harry… it’s five o’clock in the morning,” Louis whines. “From the wrong side entirely!”

“But it’s Christmas, Lou, it’s Christmas,” Harry reminds him. “Get up. Or actually, Bean, let’s let Muppie sleep a little longer while you and I make up a nice breakfast and start the roast for later, alright? Cooking project?”

Millie frowns. “ _Presents for me_.”

“No, no, no, you’ve got to wait for the family to get here,” Harry tuts. He pets Millie’s hair sleepily. “C’mon, let’s go make some Bubble & Squeak and eggs.”

“Yay!” Millie cheers, and gallops off to the kitchen. “Bubbles and squeak!”

When she’s gone, Louis flops over to bury his face in the pillows again. He mumbles something, and Harry chuckles and presses his mouth to the warm space behind Louis’ ear for a kiss.

“Couldn’t quite make that out, love.”

“Sausage, please,” Louis repeats, barely raising his face. “And oatcakes?”

Harry rubs a warm hand over the small of Louis’ bare back, then pulls the blankets up to cover him to the neck. “Got you covered already. I’ve been planning ahead and got everyone’s favorite everythings.”

“You’re a good househusband,” Louis grumbles, then drops his face into the pillow again with a _whumpff_. “G’night.”

Harry kisses the back of Louis’ head and goes off to the kitchen. Millie stirs up potato and leek and cabbage while Harry fries the sausages off and sets them in the oven to stay warm. With Harry’s help, she cobbles together patties and Harry kisses her face, frying up the bubble & squeak while Millie scampers off to wash her hands.

And then –

“Augh!”

“Wake up, Muppie! It is Christmas family time!”

“Ugh, Bean, your hands are wet!”

“Yes,” Millie answers primly. “I give you a wet ear. Now wake up.”

“Ugh,” Louis grumbles, and Harry roars with laughter as Louis’ feet thump to the floor. “You Styleses are the _worst_.”

“Come on, Muppie, go to the kitchen. I will join you. I must dry my hands.”

There’s a scampering of nonstick-slippered feet on the hall floor, and then Louis shuffles from the opposite door, yawning spectacularly with his hair all awry. 

“That child is a menace,” Louis grumps, leaning his heavy head on Harry’s shoulder. “It is six o’clock in the morning.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmurs, and turns his face so Louis can kiss his lips. “It’s good she woke you, though, because after we eat _you_ can distract her while I go out and get that last-minute gift. Just don’t let the flat burn down; the roast’ll be in the oven.”

“Alright,” Louis yawns again, then shakes his head vigorously. “Can do. Are you _sure_ about that gift? I don’t want a repeat of last Thursday anytime soon.”

“They promised it’s a bit heartier,” Harry assures him. “It’s supposed to live like eight years.”

Louis nods and bites the fleshy join of Harry’s shoulder, making him yelp. “Good.”

After they eat, Louis bundles Millie up in her snowpants and gear and he loads her into the car for a trip to Westfield’s holiday skating rink, since back in Doncaster, skating at Christmas had been a family tradition. While they’re out, Harry goes to the pet store and returns with a big cage and plants and all of the other accoutrements to set up in a hidden corner of the spare bedroom. 

Louis comes in, grinning so hard his eyes are nearly crinkled shut, with Millie slung around his shoulders laughing. He shepherds her into her room to put on a Christmas dress and Harry makes Louis hot tea and Millie some milky cocoa, and they eat cold sandwiches for lunch to tide them over until their family arrives. 

Everything goes smoothly up until it’s time for the big reveal. Millie’s enchanted by her set of plastic zoo animal models, but Harry can tell she’s disgruntled by the lack of a Monster High doll. Louis slipped off while Daisy and Phoebe were opening their own presents to move the pet store package from Harry’s old room into Millie’s, and when he comes back, he nods to Harry.

“Sweetie?” Harry asks, and brushes the side of Millie’s curls. “D’you want to show everyone your big-girl bed in your room?”

Millie looks up with round eyes. “ _There’s a chameleon in there, isn’t there_?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not Father Christmas. I don’t know what all he’s brought you. Why don’t we go see?”

Millie scrambles to her feet so quickly she falls over and has to push herself up a second time, then tears off to her room.

Harry smiles at his mother and Jay, then links his hand with Louis’ and they go to Millie’s room.

She’s standing in the door, staring at the chameleon’s tall enclosure, full of rocks and a warm light and branches of a fake tree to climb. The chameleon inside is bigger than Harry would have guessed, its skin greenish-blue-brown with dark stripes up its belly, and its tail is curled like a curlique as it eyes Millie up curiously.

“D’you like it, sweetie?” Harry asks worriedly when Millie is suspiciously silent. He puts his hands on her shoulders.

Millie tilts her head to look up at him and Harry is alarmed when there are tears spilling down her pink face.

“What’s wrong?”

Millie takes a great shuddering gasp and yells, “ _I love him so much I cannot handle it right now!_ ” and promptly sits down on the floor, bawling.

“Oh, dear,” Louis mutters. He lifts her up by the armpits and nestles her on his hip to carry her out to the living room again until she can properly compose herself and go meet the chameleon properly.

An hour later, Millie slips off and hangs from her doorjamb, chewing on her fingers as she stares at the little chameleon tank. It’s slipped off somewhere to hide in the branches of the fake tree, so she can’t see it, but it’s enough to know he’s there.

•••

With the X Factor over for the year, all five boys are back in the studio, recording feverishly all morning while Millie’s at school. Then either Harry or Louis leaves to bring her to the studio, to Liam’s apartment to dance with Danielle, or the Lou Teasdale’s house for a playtime with Lux, and they’re back to recording after the two-hour recess.

Harry is driving Millie back to the studio, having just stopped to get milkshakes from Milkshake City, when she says, 

“Daddy? I want to have an all-night sleeping party.”

“D’you mean a sleepover?” Harry asks. 

“I want my friends to sleep in the living room and eat pizza and watch a movie,” Millie explains. “In pajamas.”

“Yes, that’s a sleepover,” Harry confirms. “Who would you want to invite?”

“Erm – ” Millie ticks off on her fingers. “Luxie. And… Su, from school. And Mary M. But not Mary S. or Mary F. or Mary O.,” she grumbles.

“How many Marys are in your class?” 

Millie looks at Harry in the rearview mirror like he’s a bit slow. “Four. And Danielle. And Perrie Lilmix. And… Daisy and Peebee, and Auntie Gemma and Ellener.”

“What about Lottie and Fizzy?”

Millie sighs. “I guess so. That’s a lot of guests. Bertram might get scared.”

“I see,” Harry says. He shrugs. “Well, I guess that’s alright with me if you want to have a sleepover. It’ll have to be next Friday, since Saturday’s our day off.”

“Yay!” Millie cheers. “Good, ‘cause I maked invitations!”

“Oh, did you?” Harry laughs. “Alright. We can write the rest out on them later and you can give Su and Mary M. their invitations tomorrow.”

“Yay!” Millie repeats, and kicks the back of Harry’s seat joyfully. “Thank you, Daddy!”

“You’re welcome, sweetie.” Harry smiles at her in the rearview mirror, and Millie blows him a dramatic kiss with both hands.

The next evening, Su’s grandmother calls and tells them that yes, Su would be delighted to come spend the night at Millie’s house and did they want her to bring anything along as a treat? (Louis votes for brownies.) 

Mary M.’s mother calls Harry’s mobile just after Millie’s gone to sleep, bouncing with excitement.

“Mr. Styles,” she says, sounding a bit stiff, “I’m afraid my daughter is not going to be allowed to sleep over at your flat with Millie next weekend.”

“They are a bit young,” Harry agrees. “I’ll explain to Millie; I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“It’s not that,” Mrs. – Harry’s not even sure, Mrs. “M.” hedges – “I simply can’t allow my daughter put in that kind of… environment.”

The vein in Harry’s neck throbs. “What environment is that, exactly?”

He expects something about how young he is, or how Millie got in trouble at school the week prior for singing Cher Lloyd without self-censoring. Maybe even a complaint about the pet lizard. He doesn’t want her to say –

“Mr. Tomlinson, erm, shares your residence, does he not?”

“He does,” Harry confirms. “If it makes you feel better, there will be adult female supervision at the sleepover. Don’t punish Millie for something about me you’ve a problem with, please. Be a parent.”

“I really don’t think that a gay nineteen-year-old has any bearing on which to instruct my ethics,” Mary M.’s mother sniffs. “I’ve read all about your parenting ‘skill,’ Mr. Styles, and it leaves much to be desired. I don’t really need my daughter to be punched out, concussed, and left to the whims of a – someone like Mr. Tomlinson.”

Harry clenches his teeth so tightly it feels like they may start sparking. He wants to defend himself, defend Louis, defend Millie, defend Zayn, defend their lives that they’ve worked so hard to get and keep and make good for that little girl, but he can’t find the right words to say first and instead, he says nothing. He hangs up the phone, turns it off wholesale, and throws it across the room.

He cries into Louis’ chest for half the night because somehow, he feels like just by being happy and finding someone to love Millie as much as he does, he’s made her life harder. The next morning, he quietly explains to Millie over breakfast that maybe she shouldn’t be friends with Mary M. anymore, but that Su was happy to come to her party and even bring brownies.

The party goes off nicely, because all of the adults are happy to play games with the three toddlers in attendance until Lux falls asleep in a heap on the floor at half-nine. Eleanor holds Lux in her lap so she can sleep while the others watch a movie; Su drops off soon after, but Millie manages to keep her eyes open until midnight, accustomed to late nights from traveling and recording. 

Harry tiptoes into the living room to kiss Millie’s head. “Did you have a nice party, Bean?”

Millie nods and yawns. “I like sleepovers. Can we have pancakes?”

“Sure,” Harry promises, and smooths her hair out of her face. “In the morning. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Millie yawns again. “’N I love Muppie, too. Night-night now.”

“Good-night, sweetie,” Harry whispers. Daisy and Phoebe are headed to sleep, too, and Gemma and Eleanor plan to spend the night in the guest room. Perrie kisses Harry’s cheek as she slips off to spend the night in Zayn’s apartment a few floors down, and Danielle gives him a hug on her way out, although she promises to come back bright and early for pancakes and to have a little Mickey’s Mousercise dance party with the little ones.

“Liam’s told me what happened,” she whispers. Danielle smiles sadly and chucks Harry’s chin. “Are you both alright?”

Harry shrugs. “I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.”

Danielle looks down at her hands. “Liam and I – after that pregnancy scare, we’ve been talking, and… we know we might be in for similar someday, too. And Perrie and Zayn. We all really admire you, though, Harry. You two have done the most lovely job with Millie. She’s a delight. Really.”

Harry nods, and leans in to kiss Danielle’s cheek. “Thank you. You and Liam will be lovely parents, too.”

Danielle grins. “I know.”

She pats Harry’s face and lets herself out. In the morning, Millie rushes Lux into Harry- and Louis’ bedroom, shouting, “Wake up! Wee emergency!” and Harry swoops Lux into the bathroom to lift her up onto the toilet since she’s too small to make the climb. Su cries when she wakes because it takes her a few minutes to remember why she isn’t at home, but Louis sings her silly songs and makes faces until she’s laughing, too. They all eat the pancakes that Harry griddles in the shapes of hearts and snowmen and Mickey Mouse – some with chocolate chips and others with blueberries and one, because Millie begs, with cheddar cheese – and Millie can’t stop smiling.

After Su’s grandmother comes to get Su and Lou Teasdale stops by for a coffee and catch-up while Millie shows off Bertram to Lux (again), they’re all alone at last. 

“So,” Harry asks Millie carefully, crouching down to her eye-level. “How was your sleepover?”

Millie throws her arms around his neck. “It was the most best ever! You are the very best Daddy. And Muppie is the onliest Muppie.”

“Don’t I get to be the best?” Louis asks sulkily. “Even by default?”

Millie beckons him closer so she can hug his knee at the same time as she clings to Harry’s neck. “You can be I guess.”

Harry starts getting the cold shoulder from a small group of mothers when he picks Millie up at lunchtime. Louis confides that he hasn’t noticed any different treatment at all, that they’ve _never_ spoken to him, and it breaks Harry’s heart.

He’s playing poker in the studio with Zayn and Niall while Liam naps on the couch and Louis records a background vocal the next week when his phone rings, and the ID says it’s Millie’s school.

Frowning, Harry answers, and Miss Clara says, “Mr. Styles, Harry, hello… I’m sorry to call like this, but I need you to come down to the nursery. There’s been an altercation.” 

“An altercation?” Harry asks, rubbing his chest as he stumbles to his feet. “What’s all that?”

“I’d rather discuss it in person.” Clara sounds uncomfortable. “Millie is alright, but – can you come down?”

“Erm, yeah, I can be there in half an hour,” Harry starts, but just then Louis emerges from the booth and Savan gestures for Harry to wrap it up and get in for his turn. “Actually,” Harry says, “Could Louis come? He’s Millie’s guardian, and all, so – I’m just, I’m at work, and… if not…”

“No, erm.” This time she definitely sounds flustered. “He can – yes. Half an hour?”

“Yeah, about,” Harry says, and the mobile rings off. He looks down at Louis with his eyebrows drawn. “You need to go to the nursery. Apparently Millie’s been in an ‘altercation,’ but she’s fine, basically?”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up. “What’s that mean?”

“No idea.” Harry shrugs, and Louis reaches up to wrap his fingers over Harry’s hand where he’s still rubbing at his chest. 

“Hey,” Louis says softly. “If she’s alright, then _it’s_ alright, okay?”

Harry takes a deep breath and nods. “Okay.”

Louis kisses Harry’s lips once chastely. “Sing well. I’ll bring her back here, pick up sandwiches or summat.”

Harry nods, still distracted, and heads into the booth.

When Louis arrives at the nursery, he’s greeted by the sight of the assistant teacher leading the rest of the children in a beanbag-catching game while Millie sits on a little green plastic chair in the corner, arms crossed tightly over her chest and a black scowl on her face. There’s an ice pack rested on her right hand. He can hear shouting from Miss Clara’s office.

“Bean,” Louis whispers, crouching beside her. “What’s happened?”

Millie sets her jaw and shakes her head. “I am not wrong.”

“Was this about your name again?”

The office door opens, and a tan, reedy woman wearing pearls stalks out, dragging behind her a little girl in a blue sweater with bloodstains all down the collar. The girl’s lower lip is swollen, and she’s missing one tooth.

“Millie!” Louis gasps. “Who is that, and what did you do?”

Millie just shakes her head again, and when the girl tromps past, Millie reaches out quick as lightning and pinches her arm _hard_ between her fingernails.

The girl cries out and the woman just pulls her harder, away from Millie.

“ _Emily Anne Styles_ ,” Louis hisses, aghast. “What is wrong with you?”

Millie just glowers. A very harassed-looking Miss Clara steps to her doorway, straightens her hair, and says, “Come in, please, Mr. Tomlinson. You too, Millie. We’re going to talk about what happened.”

“No!” Millie yells. “I will not tell!”

Louis pets her hair to calm her. “What won’t you tell, little bean?”

Millie’s lip pokes out as she frowns harder. “I will not tell what Mary M. said. I will get in trouble.”

“Sweetie,” Louis says dryly, “You are already in a _lot_ of trouble.” He holds out his hand. “Come on and talk to us, okay? Let’s sort it out.”

Millie hesitates, refusing to look up at the adults, for another minute before clambering down from the green discipline chair and grasping onto Louis’ hand. She follows him into Miss Clara’s office, and the poor teacher shuts the door.

It’s a more welcoming office than his headmasters’ had ever been, Louis notes. Millie gets to sit on a cushion and there are toys all over the desk, as well as paper and crayons.

“Millie,” Miss Clara says gently, “Firstly, I know you’re very upset, and it’s okay to feel upset. I know that what Mary M. said hurt your feelings.” She gets out a small box of crayons and a pad of paper. “Why don’t you draw a picture of your feelings while we talk, okay?”

Millie glowers, but takes the crayons. She selects a red crayon first and draws sharp slashes all over the paper. “Mary M. is shit.”

“Millie!” Louis cries. “How many times have we told you that’s a bad word?”

“I like it,” Millie grouses. She keeps drawing red. “I am angry and mad and sad.”

“I know,” Miss Clara sympathizes, “Why don’t you tell us your side of what happened?”

Millie sighs heavily and stays silent, filling the paper with red until finally she selects a brown crayon and starts drawing a spiky shape. “Mary M. say a bad word about my Muppie. I know it is bad. I get angry and mad and sad and I punch her in the mouth like Zayn. And my hand is hurting.”

“Millie,” Louis says despairingly, rubbing her back. “We’ve told you, and Zayn’s told you, that what he did was wrong. Why would you do that?”

“It is not wrong if he is protecting me,” Millie says tetchily. “I am not wrong if I am protecting Muppie. That is what families do.”

“I understand that you want to protect your family,” Miss Clara says gently, and rests her fingertips on Millie’s left hand, the hand that isn’t swollen. “Why don’t you tell us what she said, so we can talk about better ways to deal with being angry and mad and sad about it?”

Millie’s face goes red. “No. I will not say it. It is a bad word.”

“Well, you just said ‘shit,’” Louis points out, and blushes when Miss Clara glances at him disapprovingly. “What did she say, little bean? I won’t get angry with you.”

“You be sad,” Millie says, shifting in her seat. Her crayon changes to blue. “I did a bad thing to know this word is bad. I get in trouble.”

“You won’t get in trouble,” Louis promises, still rubbing her back. “I promise. Free pass on what you did to know it was bad.”

Millie heaves a deep sigh and drops the crayons, resting her chin on her arms. “I was on iPad doing ZooFax and I hitted the wrong button and I go to Twitter, and it is your Twitter, and I read it. And I see someone say this word, and someone say this word is bad and will make you sad. So it is a bad word.”

And with that, Louis understands. And doesn’t. Mary M. is _three years old_ and her mother’s already trained her up to hate this child for someone else’s life. And he was right when he told Harry that knowing how people see him, how people perceive him, affects how he acts around Harry and Millie and acts about them. Because Louis squares his shoulders and looks Clara in the eye and asks,

“How was Mary M. disciplined today?”

Clara shifts in her chair now, brushing at her hair like she’s flustered. “It’s not customary to focus discipline on the victimized party at our – ”

“I’m not denying Millie’s actions were wrong,” Louis assures her, “But so were Mary M.’s words. Did you and her mother discuss what was said to provoke the attack? Because it was provoked. I’m sure we can agree on that.”

“I do agree that she was – needled into thinking she needed to react,” Clara hedges. “But the nursery policy on this kind of fight is that there is no justified provocation, so…”

Louis stands and puts his hand on Millie’s head. She cranes her neck and looks up at him. “I can appreciate teaching all of the students that physical violence is never the best answer, and you can be sure that’s what we _do_ teach Millie at home. But I’m sure you can also appreciate how much verbal assault is as painful and valid as physical assault, and if you can’t punish Mary M. equally to Millie for hurting my d– Millie, then I think our tuition money can find its way to a school that could do so, were it to arise again. Millie?” Millie blinks. “Let’s go. I’ve got to get you lunch before we get back to your dad.”

Millie bites her lips and looks from Louis to Miss Clara. “Am I in trouble?”

Louis sighs and pets her hair. “Yes. But I need to talk to your dad to know how much.”

“Okay,” Millie sighs. “Are we go now?”

“Yes,” Louis says, and keeps rumpling her hair. “We’re gonna go, go, go now.” He smiles to himself just a little, wistfully, remembering how Millie never used to say the word only once, like she needed to be constantly on the move.

Miss Clara stands behind her desk. “Mr. Tomlinson? I know I really can’t apologize enough for the circumstances of what happened. Millie won’t be allowed back for the rest of the week because she did rather violently assault another student, but I will talk to the school governors about provisions regarding – hatespeech. It’s not, not something… something that’s come up before with students this young. I can give you a call, or Harry – Mr. Styles. If you like.”

Louis licks his lip and nods slowly. “Sure. Go ahead and take the time you need. I’ll talk to Harry and let him know what’s happened; he might call you later, I’m not sure. Can Millie borrow this ice pack?”

Clara nods and holds it out to Millie with a sweet smile. “I hope I see you on Monday, Millie.”

Millie nods impassively and takes the ice pack, holding it to her bruised knuckles. As they walk out of the little red-brick school, she says, “Muppie, I want a Chinese for lunch.”

“No,” Louis says firmly. “We’re getting sandwiches and you’re gonna eat healthy, and then you and me and your dad need to talk about what happened today.”

For the first time, Millie’s veneer cracks and her lip quivers as her nose goes pink. “I’m sorry I got trouble. But I am not sorry I protect you like Zayn protect me.”

Louis lifts Millie into her carseat and kisses her nose. “I love you, sweetie. But it’s not your job to protect me. You’re the kid, and I’m the grown-up, and it’s my job to protect you.”

Fat tears spill down Millie’s cheeks. “Mary M. was my friend before.”

“I know,” Louis murmurs. He rests his lips on her forehead. “I’m very sorry, sweetie. Do you want to go to a new school?”

“I do not want school no more,” Millie sniffles. “All four Marys is mean and also Jack is mean and say I cannot play dump trucks nor lizards nor dragons nor robots because I am a girl, but I say girls can does anything boys can except be daddies, and he says no. And he pinch me, see?” 

There’s a little red spot on her elbow, and Louis lifts it to his mouth for a kiss. “I’m sorry, bean. Jack sounds like a poopooface.”

Millie has to smile a watery little smile. “He is a stinky poopooface. I like the dump trucks.”

Louis smiles at her and gives her nose last kiss. “Me, too. Let’s get our sandwiches and then we’ll talk to your daddy. We’ll see how you feel tomorrow about school, okay?”

Millie nods and sniffs and wipes her eyes bravely, and Louis pats her knee before he shuts her car door and slides around to the driver’s seat. 

Millie kicks his seat as he pulls out of the parking lot. 

“Muppie?” she sniffs. “I love you, too. But my hands hurts a lot. Can I have a Popsicle?”

“Sure, little bean,” Louis agrees. “You can have a Popsicle.”

•••

Millie doesn’t end up going back to school. Instead, they pick a single and announce a massive, massive world tour to start in October, and Millie spends what would have been the last three months of her school year – and the summer – puttering around in studios and interview greenrooms and the flat while the boys rehearse and promote. They’ll be gone nearly six full months, and there’s a lot to take care of – babysitters for Bertram the chameleon not lowest on the list – and Millie tries her best to help out. They all take turns working with her for a bit of time each day on different things – reading and math and art and music – and Harry’s fairly confident that Millie isn’t falling behind anything.

Compared to the autumn and winter, when Harry and Louis were having problems and then Millie was so unhappy, spring and summer are fairly idyllic. They’re busy, but a sort of busy that Harry likes. In August, Millie spends a week in Holmes Chapel with Anne and Robin and Gemma and Eleanor, and Harry and Louis go to Spain, just the two of them. Photos are taken at the airport and on the street in Barcelona.

In one of them, they’re clearly just leaning back from a kiss.

It’s not as big a deal as Louis had feared, since by now they’re a foregone conclusion to all but the staunchest deniers. And they can cling to what they believe by the fact that their lips aren’t actually touching in the photo; _they’re just whispering, like on stage_. It’s all okay. 

They fuck on the hotel floor with the blinds and curtains open, streaming in Mediterranean sunshine, on the last afternoon before they leave, and it’s beautiful. 

They get back to England very brown and sleepy and satisfied, and Millie clobbers them both to the floor with hugs and kisses. 

On the day before the tour, they have some last minute packing and sorting to do, since they have to travel for three instead of just one, like the other boys, so they send Millie off for a play-date with Zayn. The added matter of Millie’s fourth birthday impending the next day doesn’t help matters, as Harry is trying desperately to figure out how to pack all of her gifts into suitcases that won’t get mixed up with the ones needed for tour without being _so_ unique that Millie will spot them right away and attack them for her presents.

Louis brings Millie down to Zayn’s floor at half-eleven. Zayn is still perfecting his hair when Millie arrives at his flat, so he tells her that she can play with the small trove of superhero toys he keeps in a bin for her in the corner until he’s ready.

When he emerges from the bathroom, quiff tall and perfect, Millie is just listlessly bashing together Aquaman and the Black Canary. Zayn settles down on the floor beside her, then picks Millie up and settles her into his lap. “What’s up, Acchi?”

Millie sighs heavily. “I’m having feelings today.”

Zayn presses his laugh down and pats Millie’s knee. “Feelings, huh? Feelings are the worst.”

“They are,” Millie agrees. She sighs again, so deeply that her head lolls to her shoulders. “Feelings are ‘zausting.”

“What sort of feelings are you having?” Zayn asks. 

“The old kind,” Millie mopes. “About life and love and dirt and stuff.”

“Really?” Zayn asks. “What made you have feelings about that?”

“I don’t know,” Millie answers. Her face is screwed up in contemplative confusion as she ponders. “I just woke up and thought, ‘what if I was a dinosaur?’ and then I thought ‘I would not have a daddy nor a Mup, because dinosaurs do not have any parents,’ and I got some feelings.”

Zayn allows himself a soft chuckle before he kisses the top of Millie’s head. “That’s some big thoughts for a little person.”

“I am not that so very little,” Millie says indignantly. “I am bigger than a cat.”

“That’s true,” Zayn says. “But you’re smaller than a dinosaur. So you don’t need to worry about being one. And even if you were a dinosaur, you’d have your dad and Mup. I promise.”

Millie levels him with a look. “Some dinosaurs had live babies instead of eggs,” she offers.

“That’s quite interesting,” Zayn says.

Millie nods. “But sauropods did not raise their babies. But they also did not hurt other animals on purpose. So I be a sauropod.”

“What’d they look like?” Zayn asks. “Which are they?”

“The big ones with long necks,” Millie says patiently. “They ate plants.”

“Oh, like a brontosaurus?”

Millie scoffs. “There are no brontosauruses. They’re apatosauruses and brachiosauruses and diplodicuses. Silly.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Zayn laughs. “Well, were any dinosaurs good parents?”

“Maiasaurs,” Millie says. “Their name means ‘good mother lizards.’”

“Well, maybe you’d be a maiasaurus ‘cause you’re a good mum to lizards, right?” Zayn asks. “Like Bertram. What did they look like?”

“Small and duck-faces,” Millie says. “They lived in herds like cows and they raised their babies all together in a group.”

“Well, then your dad and Mup would definitely be maiasauruses,” Zayn says, giving her belly a poke. “Because that’s what we all do, right? Us five and Danielle and Auntie Lou and Auntie Gemma and Eleanor and everyone, we’re all big maiasauruses and you and Lux are the babies, right?”

“I am bigger than Luxie,” Millie says sulkily. “She is the _most_ baby.”

“That’s true,” Zayn agrees. “She is the most baby. But you agree we’re all maiasauruses, right? And even if you were a dinosaur, your dad and Mup, and me and Liam and Niall and Danielle and your aunties and grandmas, we’d all still take care of you, okay?”

Millie thinks about this for a long minute, then her face brightens into a grin and she nods. “Okay. You make sense.”

“Good.” Zayn tickles her to make her shriek, then kisses the back of her head. “Now let’s get some lunch, alright? I’m starving. What do you want to eat?”

“Plants!” Millie giggles. “Because we are maiasaurs!”

“Okay,” Zayn chuckles. “We’ll eat some plants.”

•••

“I understand why they do not have chicken here,” Millie says thoughtfully, “Because it is an animal, and they only serve plants. But why do not they serve pork?”

“Well, because that also comes from animals,” Zayn says. “But also because a lot of religions don’t eat it. Like me. I don’t eat pork because of my religion.”

“Pork comes from animals _too_?” Millie asks, arms out wide. “Jeez, do not any meat not come from animals?”

Zayn pauses and weighs her earnest face. “No. All meat comes from animals.”

“Even bacon?” Millie asks, clutching her cheeks.

“Yes, even bacon,” Zayn says apologetically. He pats her head. “Sorry.”

“Well, that do not do,” Millie sighs. “I will eat chickens because there are a lots of birds, and fish because there is a lots of fish, but I not can eat animals there is not a lots of. What animals is bacon?”

“Pigs,” Zayn says. “Same as pork. I don’t eat pigs.”

“Me, neither,” Millie says firmly. “Because I never seen pigs just walking around, but I did seen birds and fish just walking around.”

“You’ve seen fish walking around?” Zayn jokes, tapping her nose. “That’s amazing.”

“You are being silly,” Millie says loftily. “Fish only walk around in the water, and it is called swimming. I meant I seen them swimming.”

“Ah,” says Zayn seriously, as though she’s taught him the mysteries of the universe. “That’s good to know.”

Millie’s brow furrows. “Are there meat that come from endangered animals?”

“No,” Zayn says. “Not in England, anyway.”

“Good,” Millie declares. “I do not want to eat endangered animals, nor threatened species. Nor vulnibble species like koalas nor dingoes nor Dorcas gazelles. Did you know they are only as tall as me?”

“I did not know that,” Zayn says. “Where d’you learn about all these animals?”

“My ZooFax,” Millie reports. “I got it on Mup’s iPad and he lets me use it to read about animals.”

“Can you read all those big words?”

“It’s a button and I push the button and it reads the big ones for me,” Millie says sheepishly. “But I learn them anyway, for next time. And I know all of the small ones.”

“That’s good,” Zayn praises her. Then he gestures to her plate with his fork. “Eat up, acchi. It’s getting cold.”

Millie takes a big bite of her veggie burger and shoves a few chips into her mouth alongside it. Her cheeks puff out so that she looks a bit like a chipmunk, and Zayn shakes his head. She eats like a steamroller before looking up from her plate. There’s a greasy string of cheese curling from her lower lip up to her nose and Zayn stifles a laugh as he reaches across the table to brush it away.

“Zayn,” Millie asks thoughtfully, “What is chlamydia?”

Zayn feels his eyes go very wide. “What?”

“What’s chlamydia?”

“Wh… where did you hear that word, sweetie?”

“On Mup’s iPad,” Millie says dismissively. “I seen it. What is it?”

“Why do you want to know? Like – why don’t you ask your dad or Mup?” Zayn treads carefully, wondering, honestly, what the fuck is happening in that apartment that she’s seeing anything about chlamydia on their computer.

“I forgot,” Millie says simply. “But I want to know what it is before I forgot again.”

“It’s a sickness,” Zayn hedges. Millie looks distinctly troubled. “Who’s sick, sweetie?”

“Koalas,” Millie informs him. “My ZooFax said koalas got chlamydia. And we are going to Australia and Mup said I could see a koalas.” She frowns. “Can I catch the sickness from them?”

“No,” Zayn says firmly. He changes the subject. “Hey, look, d’you want to get some ice cream?” 

Zayn stays for dinner at their flat – just sandwiches and crisps, since Harry doesn’t fancy doing dishes – and hangs out with Louis and Harry, watching telly and shooting the shit, as Millie plays quietly with Bertram in her bedroom. She’d discovered that if she lined up an obstacle course of stuffed animals, he would change color to match each on his slow, thoughtful way through. 

Just past eight, Harry takes his leave to shuffle Millie through the bath and brushing her teeth routine. Once she’s all tucked in, she regards him imperiously from the pillow.

“Daddy,” Millie says very seriously, looking up at Harry from beneath her halo of curls and fluff of blankets, “I do not want to eat pork nor bacon anymore.”

“Okay, I guess. Why?” Harry asks, brushing some of her hair out of her eyes. It was nearly time for another haircut.

“Because of my religion,” Millie informs him loftily.

Harry laughs. “You don’t have a religion, sweetie.”

“Yes, I do,” Millie insists. “I like animals and pork is pigs, and pigs are animals. They are my religion.”

Harry kisses her forehead. “Okay, sweetbeans. You don’t have to eat pork and bacon anymore if it’s important to you. Do you want me to stop, too?”

“Hmm.” Millie’s lips purse as she considers the offer. “You should stop except Mup’s magic breakfast samwiches, because he will be sad. I protect Mup from sad. But you can still eat chicken and fish, because there are a lots of birds and a lots of fish, and beef because I don’t know what animal it is, but there must be a lots of it.”

Harry smiles and smooths his thumb over her round cheek. “Okay. I don’t think we could convince Mup to stop, though. He loves bacon too much.”

Millie nods. “He says bacon is how he keeps his figure.”

Harry lets out a raucous, wild hoot of a laugh and covers his mouth with both hands, Millie matching him beat-for-beat because it’s _funny_ when her daddy laughs like that and she likes to make him laugh. Harry keeps chuckling as he tickles Millie’s ribs, making her shriek harder and kick out her legs beneath her green blankets. After he’s stopped tickling and she’s stopped kicking but neither has quite stopped laughing, Harry leans down and kisses Millie’s forehead.

“I love you, Daddy,” Millie giggles as she pats Harry’s cheek.

Harry smiles. “I love you, too, Milliebeans.” He smooths her fringe back away from her eyes and tucks her blankets back up to her chin. “Now it’s time to sleep. We’ve got a big, big adventure coming up, right?”

“I get to see koalas!” Millie agrees. “First, my birthday! I’m a little old lady.”

“Oh, yes, _so_ old,” Harry says dryly. “Four is just ancient. Might as well be a hundred. We’ll have to sign you up for some false teeth and OAP billiards.”

Millie tucks her lips around her teeth and mumbles, “Yes, I need some new teeth.”

Harry mimics back, “Okay, gummy, time to sleep for real. Good night.”

“Good night, Daddy,” Millie murmurs. “Send in Mup and Zayn for kisses.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Harry defers as he flicks off her lights and steps out of the room. He nods to Louis and Zayn and they shuffle off into her room. Harry heads into the kitchen to get the six-pack from the back of the fridge and set it out in the living room. They’re going to be gone nine months – might as well not leave any beer behind. He’s already cracked his open when the others return, Millie’s door shut softly behind them. 

Louis sits down beside Harry and sets his feet up on the coffee table. “So, she’s a vegetarian now? Of all the atrocities, H. Really. Vegetarianism.”

“She’s not vegetarian,” say Harry and Zayn together. “She’s just giving up pigs.”

“Right, right, ‘cause she doesn’t see them walking around,” Louis says dismissively. His hand flits about as if to shoo the thought away, and Harry opens another beer for Louis while Zayn cracks his own bottle top against the edge of the table. “What a funny little thing. She’s got her brain working at least.”

“She really does,” Harry sighs. “She’s like – she’s a real person, with like ideas and _beliefs_ and stuff. When did that happen?”

“Last four years, I guess,” says Zayn. He shakes his head. “Fuck, does it feel like four years?”

“No,” says Harry, breathing and speaking in the same moment as Louis. “I think if you’d asked me four years ago if I thought that in four years’ time, we’d be about to leave on a fucking world tour…”

“I’d’ve thought you done your head in,” Louis supplies helpfully. “I mean, put up with Liam for four years? Impossible.”

“Put up with _you_ for four years,” snorts Zayn. “More impossible. Magic none of us have committed murder.”

“Tomlincide is a terrible crime,” Louis says loftily. “And I’m the fucking light of your life, Zayn Malik, so fuck off.”

“I see where Millie gets the attitude,” Zayn mutters to Harry. Harry snorts and nods, taking a long pull of his beer. 

“But really,” Harry says, “Four years. That’s like – we’re proper _men_ now, aren’t we? Like proper real adults. With like, jobs and… homes and… kids and… luggage.”

“Harry, we had all that four years ago,” Zayn laughs. “And I’m pretty sure anyone can have _luggage_.”

“Did you mean ‘baggage’?” Louis asks Harry. He widens his blue eyes until they’re running with condescension and rubs Harry’s thigh in false comfort. “Is half a beer too much for your geriatric bones?”

“Oh, suck m’dick,” Harry mutters. “I’m trying to be serious. Arseholes.”

“I will happily once Zayn leaves,” Louis promises. He shrugs and settles into the warm curve of Harry’s side, left open when Harry let his arm trail along the top of the couch. “It’s not the time to be serious. We’ve got nine months on the road ahead, I think we just need – no worries. Nothing. Clear skies and smooth sailing.”

“I am quite excited,” Zayn admits, sounding a little sheepish. “We’ve never been to Africa or Asia or like that. It’s like, stuff off my bucket list, yeah?”

“Do you have a bucket list?” Harry asks. “I think it’s morbid.”

“It’s not like, written down,” Zayn says as he rolls his eyes. “But like, how Millie has that list of animals she wants to see, like, I’ve got places I want to go and stuff I want to do, and yeah. I s’pose I do have a bucket list.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Louis says, and it surprises Harry enough that he looks down at Louis’ upturned face. “Written down and all.”

Harry’s brows knit and his lower lip plumps with a light frown, but Louis smiles and shakes his head, touching Harry’s pouting mouth. “It’s not a sad thing, H. It’s supposed to be a happy thing, like, ‘look at all the stuff I’ve still got to do.’ And I will! I shan’t rest until I have swum with the Loch Ness Monster.”

Harry and Zayn level him with a look.

Louis spreads his hands. “ _And hence, the laws of the universe state that I can be young forever, because the bucket list can’t be completed_.”

“That’s not how that works,” Zayn says. “It’s not a magic list.”

Louis pushes his fingers against Zayn’s mouth to shush him. “Just sit and look pretty. We don’t need your specious words.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	25. Chapter 25

“Erm, and you gotta make sure he gets his water misting,” Millie chatters, already on point fifteen of her Chameleon Care presentation for Anne, Robin, and Gemma. “The water should drip, erm, from the leaves, because erm, in the wild, chameleons go under leaves. And make sure he gets time in the sunshine or you use his special light, because Bertram needs to feel like he is outside, or he gets sick. And – ”

“You sure know a lot about taking care of Bertram,” Anne interrupts her gently. “Your dad gave us a copy of your ZooFax about him. He’ll be alright. I _promise_.”

Millie’s lips purse. “I just want to make sure you understand that taking care of him is very important. And do not let Dusty eat him! I will be very cross.”

“So will Dusty, I suspect,” Anne laughs. “Nobody is going to let anyone eat Bertram.”

“Good,” Millie says forcefully. “’Cause he is my baby, like I am Daddy- and Mup’s baby. But I am not really a baby, ‘cause I am old now. I am four. But Luxie is only just three, so she’s the _real_ baby.”

“Yes, yes, you’re always older Lux, we understand. You sure love that lizard,” Gemma comments. 

“I was born loving lizards,” Millie says thoughtfully. “I think I used to be one, just for maybe fifteen years or so.”

“Then you aren’t four, are you?” Gemma teases. “You’re _nineteen_!”

Millie’s jaw drops and she clenches her hands to her cheeks. She looks like a tiny, curly-haired Macaulay Culkin in a dress. “That’s just one year lesser than Daddy! That is so old!”

“Hey,” Harry interjects in mock warning. He reaches out and snatches Millie into his lap so he can tickle her; she wriggles and yelps and kicks her legs. “‘So old’? Is that how you think of me? ‘So old’!”

“You are old!” Millie shrieks. “You had a gray hair three days ago!”

“Yeah, because of you,” Harry snorts. “And it was in my eyebrow. Doesn’t count.”

“It counts,” Millie says primly from the puddle she’s melted into on the floor. “Your eyebrows is just only as old as the rest of you.” She sits up and artfully arranges her messy hair. “Speaking of ages and eyebrows, my eyebrows says it’s time for four-year-old birthday cake.”

Anne feigns a look of surprise at Millie. “Was I supposed to make you a cake?”

“Yes!” Millie says earnestly, nodding hard. “I ask for banilla-orange with sparkles.”

“Sprinkles,” Niall corrects.

Anne shakes her head and holds up her hands. “I didn’t know _that_. I only made liver and onions.”

Millie narrows her eyes and cocks her head, calculating. “I do not believe you. My Mup would never eat that food, Grannanna. And I will wait here while you make my cake.”

“Millie,” Harry laughs, nudging her with his toes. “Don’t be rude.”

“I am not,” Millie assures him. She pats his ankle. “I am very patient for cake.”

“Gee, little miss, I don’t know if there’s enough time for me to make a whole cake,” Anne says, looking glum. “The concert’s in just a few hours.”

Millie starts to look a little panicky and sets to fiddling with her hair again. “The concert is at nighttime. We got time. It is daytime. I can stay here and eat the cake while Daddy and Muppie and Zayn and Liam and Niall sings. It is okay. There is time.”

“I don’t think there is,” Anne says. “And I’m not sure I even have the ingredients for a vanilla and orange cake. Why don’t you come with me to the kitchen and we’ll see?”

Millie scrambles to her feet. She tucks one hand into Anne’s and slips the fingers of the other into her mouth to chew on them nervously as they head for the kitchen. Harry waits with Gemma, Eleanor, Danielle, the boys, and Louis, listening to Anne say, “Well, I know I have milk, so that’s good. But what do you think I would need to make the cake vanilla? Well, I don’t think I have that – oh, dear, look at what’s in the fridge, little miss? It’s a good thing there’s a vanilla-orange cake with sprinkles in there after all!”

“It sure is,” Niall agrees under his breath. “I didn’t come all this way just for liver and onions.”

Louis shoves Niall over.

Millie’s littlest voice flutters down the hall. “You did not forget my fourth birthday?”

“Oh, little sweetheart,” Anne coos. “I could never forget your birthday. It was the number-three best day of my life, do you know that?”

Harry smiles down at his knees and eight seven hands ruffle his hair. 

“Why am I not number one?” Millie sounds indignant.

“Well, because your daddy and Auntie Gemma are numbers one and two,” Anne laughs.

“Why?”

“Because they’re my babies,” Anne says. “I’m their mum, like you’re your daddy’s baby because he’s your dad.”

There’s a beat. 

“Who is my mum?”

Harry and Louis look at each other sharply. Harry pushes to his feet. “Let’s go intervene.”

Harry doesn’t miss the fretting look the others are all sharing as he shuffles Louis out of the room. Dusty stalks over their feet on her way to escape Millie, heading the opposite way as they are down the corridor. In the kitchen, Anne’s distracted Millie by setting her to work setting the table, and Millie is running around it setting down forks and chanting _birthday cake! Birthday cake!_

Anne smiles ruefully at the pair when they come into the kitchen and Louis immediately busies himself with stirring the first pot he sees on the stove. Harry can see over his shoulder that it is, thus far, just water awaiting pasta.

“Harry, darling,” Anne says, intentionally thoughtful, “D’you know what? I think I’ve forgotten to get whipping cream for the cake later. Why don’t you and Louis take Millie down to Mandeville’s and pick some up?”

Harry rubs at his chest. “Really?”

Anne nods. “I really do need some whipping cream. Go on.”

Harry swallows and nods and sweeps his hair out of his eyes. Louis’ hand slides over Harry’s wrist, thumb rubbing consolingly over the pale little birthmark between his bones. 

“Millie,” Harry offers, his voice shaking a little. He coughs. “Little bean, d’you want to go see the bakery where I learnt to make gingerbread girls?”

“Yes!” Millie chirps, and skips over, swishing her skirt. “Let’s go!”

Harry has to smile down at that, and bends to kiss the top of her head. He makes a face and wipes his lips. “Bean, why does your hair all sticky? And why does it taste like orange marmalade?”

“I putted it there this morning,” Millie explains – explaining nothing at all. “It’s hair jelly, like Zayn.”

“Right,” Louis says. “Well, why don’t we go wash that off, and then we’ll go to the bakery, alright?”

Millie sighs so hard her shoulders slump, but she shuffles off behind Louis to have her hair sponged clean. 

Anne gets on tiptoe to kiss Harry’s cheek, at the crest of his cheekbone near the corner of his eye. “It’s been four years, Harry. She had to ask sometime.”

Harry just nods and knots his fingers together until the knuckles turn white with tension. Millie skips back from the washroom, hair and hands clean, fluttering the ruffled crinoline skirt of her party dress all about. Louis follows her, one hand on her head to steer her gently in the right direction and not chase after Dusty; he smiles gently at Harry. 

“Ready to go?”

Harry licks his lip, takes a deep, steadying breath, and nods. “Sure. Let’s get our jumpers on, little bean. You can show Grandma Anne how you fasten the buttons by yourself now.”

“Yes!” Millie agrees, and trots off to get their sweaters where they left them in the living room. “I can button good. I button my whole jumper all up my neck. I get stuck, I am so good at buttons!”

“Wow!” Anne laughs. She carefully fluffs Millie’s curls while Millie painstakingly closes all ten buttons on her orange jumper and Louis crouches to tie her shoes. Millie beams proudly up at Anne when she’s finished, and Anne kisses the tips of two fingers and presses them to Millie’s cheek.

“Lovely job, little miss. You’ll put button factories everywhere out of business.”

Millie preens, then rumples her hair back to how she pleases; she slips her hands into Harry- and Louis’, right and left, and crows, “Let’s go to the bakery!”

Harry squeezes her small hand gently. “Okay, bean.”

The walk to the bakery is short, but the breeze is cold and chills to the bones with autumn damp. Millie’s nose turns bright pink on the way, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she skips, swinging Harry- and Louis’ hands and chattering excitedly about all of the animals she wants to see on the tour. When they arrive at Mandeville’s, Millie skids to a stop in the door and breathes in deep.

“Mmm,” she hums. “It smells nice here.”

“Yes, it does,” Harry agrees quietly, and strokes his thumb over her fingers where they curl with his. “Do you want to look around?”

“I want to smell around,” Millie announces, and lets go of their hands to skitter off to the shelves and woven wicker baskets of small goods. She spins around so her ruffled skirt flails in a perfect circle and shushes in the quiet air, then grins with all of her teeth. “Daddy, I want to see the gingerbread girls you maked.”

“Well, they’re not here now,” Harry laughs, and comes up to rumple her hair. She frowns and fixes it meticulously. “They’re for Christmas. But… here,” he leads her to the rack of spice biscuits. “Go ahead and smell these. _Don’t put your nose on them, bean, honestly. Just sniff_.”

Millie sighs happily and swoons, resting her head on Louis’ tummy. “I like it here.”

“Good,” Louis praises her quietly. “Why don’t we go find that whipping cream for Grandma Anne?”

“Okay!” Millie skips off to the row of refrigerators at the back, pulling Louis behind her, and Harry takes a moment to steel himself before heading to the counter to wait for them.

Clare stands behind the register, her hair blonde with a dark blue dip-dye, watching, not Millie, but Harry, with quiet eyes. 

“We haven’t told her,” Harry murmurs. “We’re just getting something for my mum.”

Clare laughs, but it isn’t at all unkind. “Okay. Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and finds that he can smile back. “I’m alright. You alright?”

“Yeah,” Clare says. “I’m good.” She gestures to the window. “Starting to rain.”

“Bean,” Harry calls, “Hurry up. You don’t need the ice cream, sweetie, remember, you’ve got cake coming.”

“Oh, yeah!” Millie chirrups, then completely ignores him and gallops over to the round basket of tall, fragrant Italian loaves. She puts her face near them and sniffs, her eyes drifting shut as she hums. “Daddy, I want this, too.”

“A bread?” Harry asks. “Why’d’you want that?”

“For to make with pisketti,” Millie explains. “And it’s bigger than me! I never seen a bread so big before.”

Louis smiles down at her and chuckles indulgently, caressing the back of her neck with his thumb. “Oh, go on.”

“Yay!” Millie cheers, then hefts the baguette like a weightlifter and balances it over her shoulder. “Okay,” she grunts. “I’m ready.”

Harry laughs as he watches her weave her way to the counter, heavy bread on one shoulder and knobbly in-turned knees not a good combination for walking a straight line. When she reaches him, he relieves her of the bread and sets it on the counter, along with the whipping cream Louis passes him.

Clare smiles down at Millie. “Did I hear you mention you get to eat _spaghetti_ today?”

“Yes!” Millie confirms, her eyes shining. She bounces on her toes and eyes the plate of hard-iced sugar cookies beside the register. “It is my birthday. I am four now. I get cake, too!”

“Wow!” Clare enthuses. “That’s very exciting. What kind of cake?”

“Banilla-orange,” Millie reports. “With sparkles! Daddy, I want a biscuit, _also_.”

“You can’t have a biscuit, sweetie, you don’t need one.” Harry bends down to kiss the top of her head and pull a finger of curls out of her eyes. “We’re just going right back to eat lunch, right?”

Millie sighs heavily and rests her chin on her hands on the countertop. “Okay.” She looks up at Clare curiously. “Do you have biscuits with sparkles?”

“Millie,” Louis sing-songs behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “No biscuits. You get cake in like, half an hour.”

“I just wonder,” Millie defends, eyeing up the cookies.

Clare smiles and rings up the bread and whipping cream, then slips three biscuits dusted with sparkling sugar into the bag. “There’s one for each of you to have tomorrow, if that’s alright with your dad, okay?”

Millie beams at her. “Thank you!” She tugs on Harry’s beltloop. “Daddy, I want to carry my big bread.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks. “It’s raining.”

Millie looks out the window and sighs, drooping over to rest her hands on the floor in great despair. “Aw, nuts! Well, howzabouthat?”

Louis shakes his head. “How’s about that indeed? Bean, d’you want a piggyback ride home, then?”

“Yes, please!” Millie crows, jumping up to do another spin and send her skirt flying. She tilts her head and looks up at Clare. “Do you like my dress?”

“Yes, I do,” Clare says. “It’s very pretty.”

“Thank you,” Millie says dutifully. “I do the buttons myself now.”

“Very impressive,” Clare agrees. “You’d better get home with your dad now to eat that spaghetti and cake!”

“Oh, yes!” Millie jumps onto Louis’ back and he _ooph_ s, toppling over a bit from her weight. He turns his head, kisses her chubby knee in its brown knit tights, and stands – his own knees creak loudly enough that his cheeks color pink and Harry gives him a little smirky smile, knowing Louis will complain about being an ‘old man’ for the next three days. “Let’s go to Grandma Anne’s house, Muppie!”

Louis’ eyes flick over to Clare for the barest second, but he just nods and takes hold of Millie’s ankles to hold her more securely for the rush through the rain. “Are you ready, Harry?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and nods at Louis. His green eyes look a bit tight, so Louis says _we’ll just wait for you under the awning, alright?_ and the pair duck out the door. After it closes, Harry turns to Clare, but looks down at the counter. “Thank you for being kind to her.”

Clare gives him a dry look. “I am a nice person, Harry. I’m not going to be cruel to a four-year-old on her birthday.”

Harry glances up at her droll face and nods a bit sheepishly. “Yes. Right. Erm, well, I’m – going to go, then. My mum’ll be wanting that whipping cream.”

Just as he reaches the door, Clare calls, “It’s funny… she was just in yesterday getting a pint of it. Odd she used so much in one go.”

Harry looks at his shoes and shrugs and ducks out into the rain, almost bumping into Louis where he’s huddled under the awning with Millie. 

He looks sidelong at Harry. “Where’s the bread and all?”

“Shit.”

Harry opens the door to head inside, but Clare is standing there waiting, holding out the brown paper sack. Harry nods at her raised eyebrow and takes the bag, muttering _thanks_ , and once the door closes he can hear her laughing – but Louis and Millie are laughing, too, as Louis jogs back to the Styles home, Millie clutching onto his fringe to stay balanced like a tiny jockey, so Harry just laughs, too, and covers the baguette with his sweatshirt to run home behind them.

•••

Their world tour begins in England, to help Millie – and Harry, too – get accustomed again to long nights and travel and sleeping in strange beds. They play Manchester the night of Millie’s birthday, and she runs out onto the stage in her pink sound-dampening headphones and party dress so everyone in the crowd can sing her ‘happy birthday’ while the boys toss her around the stage, laughing. She gives the crowd a curtsy, holding out the sides of her skirt, and scampers away to play with Lux and go to sleep.

They spend that night at the bungalow, since it’s nearby enough and homey enough, before heading to Birmingham in the wee hours of the morning. They trail their way in a grueling night-by-night trek from there to Plymouth, then Nottingham, Brighton, and Southampton before getting on the Eurostar to Paris.

Paparazzi photos aren’t allowed in France, either, but Millie is always wary of Paris and doesn’t take it well when Harry sits her down on his knee to warn her, after the French concert, that the next morning, they’re going to take the train to Italy, where pictures can be taken of her in the street.

“No!” Millie argues, and crosses her arms. “Zayn will not let them.”

“Well, sweetie, he doesn’t really have a choice,” Harry reminds her, petting her hair down. “But you’re just going to ignore them, okay? And any of us can carry you so you can hide your face, if you like.”

Millie’s lip quivers and she launches herself at Harry, clinging to his neck. “I do like.”

He rubs her back. “I know, little bean. But that’s not until tomorrow. And guess what? We’re going to a city that’s all on water, and we have to ride in boats instead of cars. Won’t that be fun? Have you ever seen a water city before?”

Millie just shrugs and keeps squeezing him. “I don’t know. Have I?”

Harry chuckles and kisses the side of her ear. “No, you haven’t. Do you want to take a ride on a boat tomorrow?”

Millie hesitates, then nods into his shoulder. “What country, again, please?”

“Italy, sweetie.”

“Can I eat pizza and pisketti and bread all day?”

Harry kisses her ear again. “Sure, sweetie.”

They take an extra day in Venice because Zayn wants to sightsee and is kind enough to bring Millie along with him, affording Harry and Louis their first time alone together in nearly two weeks. They’re too tired to do much, but they do take advantage of their time, moving slowly and sliding, face-to-face, Harry holding Louis’ arms down to the mattress at either side of his head so every inch of them can touch, Louis’ hard cock trapped between their bellies so he has no choice but to come from Harry’s thrusting inside him alone. They shower in hot water and rinse suds from each other’s backs and bellies and shoulders, then curl up in the blankets of their huge hotel bed and nap.

Zayn delivers Millie back to them with splotches of marinara sauce and gelato all down her dress and coating her face in a thin film of pure food. She yells “Bellissima!” every few minutes as she takes her bath, and they eventually send her down to play with Niall until she gets tired because when she’s so hyped up, nothing else really works.

When they wake Millie at four in the morning to travel on towards Rome, she whines out of sheer exhaustion, her nose running and eyes bleary. They’re glad they’ve booked two Rome concerts and a full week in the city – both because they’ll get to sightsee for _real_ for a change, and because a schedule this packed is hard enough for them, and they’re in their twenties; Louis can hardly imagine how Millie’s tiny self is coping.

Millie is sick their first three days in Rome, and they order her room service soup and pastas to eat bundled up in bed while reading her ZooFax and watching Pingu. After she’s well, they go on a guided tour of the Vatican. Millie asks – loudly – why the nuns are wearing penguin suits and goes on a rant about penguins and global warming, wrapping everything up by shrieking that ‘the man’ (Jesus) is naked in the painting overhead.

Harry covers her mouth with his hand, hauls her up onto his shoulder, and they all sheepishly leave for more child-friendly feeding grounds.

On their last night, they have to wake Millie early again – at three o’clock this time – and she skips right past whining into softly crying whimpers.

“Okay, little bean,” Louis soothes, moving her hair out of her face. “Let’s get ready to go to the airport. Get our traveling jammies on.”

“No,” Millie whines. Her lower lip pokes out. “Too much. Just wanna sleep.”

“I know, sweetie, me, too,” Louis whispers. “But come on, which pair of jammies are we wearing tonight? The Pingu?”

“No.”

“The pink ones?”

“No.”

“The froggies?”

“No,” Millie repeats, and she pushes the heels of her hands into her eyes. “No, no, nothing.”

“Well, we can’t wear nothing; we’ll get in trouble,” Louis jokes quietly. “Let’s get the froggies on, okay? You like the froggies.”

Millie lets out one shuddery sob and Louis kisses the top of her head. “I know, sweetie, you’re so tired. But look, okay, once you get your traveling jammies on, then you can sleep all the way to airport and on the plane, okay? I’ll carry you the whole way so you can sleep.”

Millie nuzzles her face into Louis’ neck and he rubs her back in soft circles, murmuring nonsense words. After a minute more, Millie seems to steel herself enough to soldier on and lets Louis help her out of the party dress and into her black onesie with grinning frogs and bright yellow lightning bugs in a pattern all over it. She pulls the green hood with its big googly eyes over the top of her head and says, meekly, “Ribbit.”

Louis kisses her nose. “Good girl,” he whispers. “You can go to sleep for a bit if you want while me and your dad pack up, and then we’ll all go down to the car and you can sleep some _more_ , okay?”

Millie nods, already swaying on her feet, and climbs onto the hotel bed. She curls up like a little pillbug and is asleep before Louis can even tuck the sheets up over her. Louis changes into his own matching pair of black pajama pants emblazoned with green frogs and yellow lightning bugs, and a dark green t-shirt. He pulls on a black beanie to avoid having to worry about his messy nighttime hair, since they’re in a country where paparazzi photos will certainly be taken of them again, and sets to folding and packing the rest of their sundry belongings: Millie’s dress and his jeans and button-down from today; the other pairs of pajamas. He checks three times in the bathroom to make sure he’s packed all three toothbrushes. He snatches the little bottle of hotel shampoo, too, because he knows Harry hates spending money on shampoo when they have access to it free so often.

Harry comes in with their luggage cart dragging behind him just as Louis is finishing up. 

“You both ready?” Harry asks with tired eyes. The bags beneath look like dark bruises and his pupils are huge. 

Louis nods and kisses Harry gently beneath one eye. 

“I promised Bean I’d carry her the whole way,” he explains in a whisper. “She’s dead tired. Are you alright with the bags?”

Harry nods, then interrupts himself with a fierce yawn. His eyes pop open bright and wide after like she’s startled. “Yeah. ‘M alright. Just help me stack them and you can get Mills. Paul’s waiting in the lobby with the van.”

“Van’s in the lobby?” Louis waits a moment for Harry’s sleepy brain to catch up and grins when Hazz rolls his eyes. He reaches forward to cup his hand around the back of Louis’ neck and pull him in for a short, chaste kiss all the same.

“I’ll see you in a few,” Harry mumbles. “I’ve gotta go collect the bags from everyone else and get Liam to help me push this thing.”

Louis gives Harry’s rear a light smack when he turns around to shove the luggage cart back out of their suite. “Get going, then.”

Once Harry’s _harrumph_ ed his way out of their room, Louis crosses back over to the bed to get Millie. She whimpers pitifully when he picks her up and he shushes her softly, drizzling kisses over the side of her head, and she tightens her arms around his neck, face buried against his collarbone. 

“I love you, little bean,” Louis whispers. 

The entire stretch of the elevator ride passes before Millie murmurs back, “Love you, too, Muppie.”

•••

Seven hours later, counting time passing through customs and airport security and throngs of British paparazzi taking advantage of their being on non-UK soil, they land in blinding sunlight to a week in Athens, Greece, where none of them have been before. Millie perks up at the warm, summery weather – and the pinging on her ZooFax about proximity to the Attica Zoological Park, the world’s third-largest exhibit of birds.

“I thought you liked lizards,” grumps Niall.

“Birds and lizards is similar,” Millie says primly, then sticks out her tongue.

However, their arrival in Greece prompts some dread for Harry and Louis (and, to a lesser extent, the rest of the adults involved in the tour; Liam is particularly concerned for his friends). The next month will take the band and entourage through a string of countries with varying levels of illegality or legal gray area about gay rights – and, while Millie understood enough to punch Mary M. in the face for calling her Muppie a bad word, they’d never really explained to her their their relationship was any different from LiamAndDanielle or ZaynAndPerrie.

Harry was dreading it. Louis dreaded it more. 

So they just sort of… don’t, and take advantage of the fact that in Greece, at least, they can still share a hotel room. They warn Millie that in some cities, they might not share the same room, but she’s so excited about quetzals and macaws that they can tell she isn’t listening (the other boys take Millie out for a few hours every day to sightsee and swim and go to the zoo park so Harry and Louis can have what precious little time they’ll be afforded at all.)

Louis sucks dark bruises into the hollows of Harry’s hips that he can wear as a reminder as long as they can. They show in the concert photos from the Athens Arena, when Harry jumped and his shirt flew up to the delight of the screaming audience, three-thousand strong.

At the end of the week, they head into Turkey for one show in Istanbul. The travel for this leg of the tour is what prolongs the time, for the most part – they don’t particularly want to linger in these cities, even though they’re gorgeous as they roll in and there are thousands of sights to see.

Confusion crosses Millie’s face at the hotel front desk when Louis takes his own key, and she drags her tattered stuffed crocodile behind her as she trots behind him across the lobby to the elevators. At the door to his room, Louis crouches down to meet her eye-level and kisses her forehead. 

“I’ll wait with you for your daddy to get up here, little bean; don’t worry.”

Millie’s eyes are round. “Why?”

“Why would I wait with you?” Louis asks lightly, sitting down to pull her into his lap. “Just in case that crocodile turns into a _real_ croc and he eats you up!”

He tickles her chubby belly and Millie writhes and shrieks with giggles. Louis kisses her cheek; still giggling, Millie asks for his iPad and together they read through her ZooFax page about Turkish hamsters. She falls asleep before Harry makes it up to their floor with all of the bags, but is confused all morning about why Mup isn’t there until Harry holds her hand and brings her downstairs for breakfast, where Louis is waiting in the lobby with open arms for her.

When, after their one Turkish show and half a night’s rest, _and_ after a grueling five-hour flight and five hours of security and transport from Istanbul to Dubai, the pattern continues – Louis doesn’t get a key to share their room, Millie’s lip quivers and she looks up at Harry with huge, tired eyes. 

“Daddy? Why is Muppie mad at me?”

“Oh, sweetie,” Harry breathes, gathering her close in a warm hug, “He’s not mad at you at all, little bean. He isn’t angry with you or me or anyone.”

“Then why is he gone from me?”

“Millie,” Harry appeals gently, “Don’t you remember? We talked about how some nights on this tour, Mup has to stay in his own separate room? Remember?”

Millie frowns. “But why?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder, aching and angry and at a loss. “Just – because. In some places, you know, people can’t share a room.”

“Do I get my own room now?” Millie asks, wide-eyed.

“No, you’re going to stay with me,” Harry says. “Dads and kids don’t count. Because,” Harry says, swinging Millie up into his arms to tickle her, “Who would stop you from ordering _all_ the ice cream if you had your own room?”

Millie giggles, but tilts her head, brows knit. “But why cannot Mup stay?”

Harry sighs and sets Millie down, kneeling in front of her to reach her eye-line. “Look, it’s – basically, do you remember when Mary M. called Mup the bad word and you punched her?”

Millie’s cheeks flush red. “Yes. I do it again!”

“No, you won’t. Well, sometimes, there are – some countries – some places, they call people the bad word,” Harry says. “And it’s just more safe if Mup stays in his own room and I stay in my own room with you.”

“But that is not fair,” Millie argues. “He is my Mup.”

Harry strokes her curls back from her face and rubs his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “I know, sweetie.”

Millie’s face crumples up so Harry sits down lets her fall into his lap, curled around his ribs and hand tucked into his shirt collar like when she was a baby. 

“What if it makes him sad?” Millie asks. “I am sad. And confused.”

Harry wraps his arms around her and rocks soothingly. “Well, he will be sad for a bit. And I’ll be sad, too. But it’s better to be safe and sad for a little while, so that’s what we’ve got to do. Mup and I have talked about it and we both understand it’s best.”

“But what if I need him?” Millie asks. “And who will make tea in the morning?”

“Well, we can see him in the morning,” Harry promises. “Straight off first thing, we’ll go find Mup in his room, okay? He’ll just be right next door.”

At nearly five o’clock in the morning, Louis wakes to a warm little puff of breath on his face. He opens his eyes and Millie’s rested her chin right on his pillow, watching him sleep. She gives him a blinding grin. “Hi, Mup.”

“‘Lo, sweetbeans,” Louis mumbles, his voice gravelly and low from sleep. “You okay? Is your dad okay?”

“He is sleeping,” Millie says. “I taken his keys and came to find you.”

“Why?” Mup asks. He scoots back in the bed and pats the mattress, so Millie grins wider and scrambles up, curling into a ball with her head in the warm divot of the pillow. 

Her green eyes are unnervingly wide and awake for this hour as she stares at Louis in the dim light like she hasn’t seen him in weeks. “I missed you. And I did not want you to be sad.”

“Sweetie,” Louis clucks. He leans forward and gives Millie a kiss, to which she pushes at his chin and giggles _your breaths stinks!_ “I promise I’m not sad. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yes, I do,” Millie argues simply. “You are my family, and that is what families is for.”

Louis smiles sleepily, his eyes already blinking shut again. “Okay. D’you want to get some more sleep?”

“No,” Millie says. “But I can be very quiet.”

“Okay,” Louis whispers. He lifts his arm so Millie can snuggle up if she wants. “Be very quiet.”

“Okay,” Millie whispers back. “I’m being quiet.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I am good at quiet. I can be the most very quietest. You will not even know I am here I am so quiet. I will be as quiet as a octopus.”

“Goodnight, Milliebean.”

“Night-night, Mup.”

Louis manages to get another two minutes’ sleep before he opens one eye and stares at Millie, smiling at him from across the pillow. “Did you say you’d be as quiet as an _octopus_? Are octopuses particularly quiet?”

•••

They race through Dubai to Islamabad, where Zayn takes Millie out and they speak in Urdu all day, which thrills Millie. They walk through a street market, and Zayn buys Millie a pretty blue-and-orange scarf with silver bangles, which she immediately drapes over her head like the other women she sees.

“Hun mayn piyara, Zayn?” she asks, striking a pose.

Zayn lifts her up into his arms and kisses her nose. “Tum hayn bohot piyara, Acchi. Are you hungry? D’you want some food?”

“Can I have fish and chips?” Millie asks, her voice just this shade of sulky. “I am bored of everything else.”

“I don’t think we can find fish and chips, no,” Zayn apologizes. “And you’re really bored of _everything_ else? _Every_ other food in the world?”

“Yes.” Millie whines full-out this time, her head and scarf dropping to Zayn’s shoulder. “I want to go home so much, Zayn. I miss my Muppie, and I miss Bertram, and I miss, erm, fish and chips, and erm, grapes, and I miss Luxie and I miss Nando’s and I miss erm, pancakes.”

“That’s a lot of missing,” Zayn agrees.

Amazingly – or perhaps sadly – he manages to find her a Nando’s in the Markaz. The menu is smaller than at home, but she’s able to get familiar chicken strips and chips (which are really what she’d been after), so she perks up quite a bit. Zayn tweets a picture of her in her makeshift headscarf while ferociously chomping at a peri-peri chip, and captions it, “culture clash amirite aha ! x love it”

(The press in the United States runs with the photo for weeks afterward, using it as “further evidence” that Zayn is actually trying to convert wholesome American girls to Islam and that the existence of One Direction is really a very elaborate, multi-year, poorly executed terrorist plot. It’s disgusting, and Liam goes on a twitter rant that lasts eight tweets and clocks only four typos, because he had Zayn proofread it first.)

After playing a sold-out show at the tiny English-language concert hall in Islamabad, they race through Gaborone and Cape Town, not wanting to ignore Africa or their meager, but growing, number of African fans – but being in Botswana is fairly terrifying for both Harry and Louis, whose entire lives, just for living, could earn a prison sentence up to seven years. Harry takes Millie on a guided, private safari day trip through the Okavango Delta during their only non-traveling, non-performing hours in the country, and she’s so beside herself with excitement at seeing a real, life hippopotamus in its natural environment – which Harry has to admit was pretty fucking cool – that she barely notices that Louis stays locked in his hotel room, alone, for most of the trip.

Almost immediately after the Cape Town show, they board a plane headed for Perth, Australia, and the tension in the group is almost visible, palpable, as it floods when they get into Australian airspace. As soon as they land, before disembarking their plane, Harry pulls Louis in close by the belt loops and kisses him firmly on the mouth.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmurs, and brushes Louis’ fringe away from his eyes.

“I’ve missed me, too,” Louis agrees, and buries his face in Harry’s shoulder.

“Me, too!” Millie shrieks, and wriggles her way in between them so she can cling to both of their sets of legs at once, just like when she was a tinier kid and needed both of them cuddled in her hotel bed to fall asleep.

•••

They spend a week in Perth, where Harry and Niall golf, Zayn shops and sleeps, and Liam and Louis take Millie to swim with dolphins in Bunbury. They play three huge sold-out shows and get their mojo back as a group when Harry and Louis can be reunited and relaxed again as a couple: it’s become something integral to all of them, a part of One Direction, and it feels _so good_ to be onstage and know that all of their chemistry together can be lit to full wattage.

After a glorious, sunshiney, tanned, Oceanside week in Perth, they make the trek to Melbourne for another set of three sold-out shows and a round of _wild_ interviews to rival even Alan Carr. The Aussie hosts are much more crude than those in the UK, and Paul has to cover Millie’s ears most of the time while the boys are talking. 

They leave Melbourne with 48 hours to spare before Louis’ birthday. He asked to spend it in Sydney, if they could, so the boys could take a boat out onto Sydney Harbor again like old times – always living in the past, just a little, is Louis.

No one minds. The beach is glorious, especially when Danielle, Lou Teasdale, Tom Atkin, and Lux arrive at the airport looking pale and tired and report that it hasn’t stopped raining in London in a week.

On the morning of Louis’ birthday, he and Liam make plans to surf again, so Harry and Millie follow them to the beach to cheer them on. Harry stretches languidly, glad for the sun and the breeze and, frankly, the barriers set up so that they can lie on the beach without being mobbed. The photographers are out in droves to drive the next six months of UK tabloid fodder since they aren’t in the UK, but with the plastic guard fencing up, even that’s alright. He reaches out his arms wide to flex and relax each of his muscles in turn, and with the upside-down sunshine beating down from above and the sand to sink into below, it feels like heaven.

There’s a ripple of giggles rushing past him and a spray of sand sprinkles over his legs as two pairs of legs run past. 

Harry smiles and turns his head to peer one-eyed at Millie and Lux. “Hey! Watch it, short stuff!”

Millie looks at Harry over the bridge of her bright pink Minnie sunglasses. She’s clearly judging him for something. Harry winks at her and turns his face back to the sun as Millie grabs Lux’s pudgy hand.

“Come on, Luxie,” Millie says decisively. “We are going to find a goanna.”

“What’s a goanna?” Lux asks warily. Harry sneaks a peek at the two of them trundling off up their fenced-in stretch of the beach. He glances up to Paul and gets a chintzy thumbs-up before Paul starts to follow the little pair.

“An Astro-lazer megalizard,” Millie answers. “They are venomous, maybe. And they are two meters. That’s like you plus me plus me.”

“Australasian,” Paul pipes in meekly from behind the girls, and Harry stifles his chuckle into his forearm.

“Yes, well,” Millie concedes, sounding flustered. “I want to find a perentie goanna. They sre biggest. They do not live on beaches, but I feel lucky. I seen a real hippo!”

“Will it eat me?” Lux asks.

“No,” Millie says. “Paul will save you if it tries.”

“Jesus fooking help you if your kid gets mine eaten by an iguana,” Lou Teasdale says as she settles down on a striped towel beside Harry’s. 

“Goanna,” Harry corrects. “They’re like way bigger than iguanas. I’m sure Millie knows some ZooFax fact about escaping them, like running in zigzags for bears or whatever it is. And anyway she’ll just lasso it and make me bring it home.”

“Ah, you’ll make me jealous, Hazz,” Lou teases. She sighs as the sun bakes its way slowly into her skin, a friendly heat after the wet cold that is London at Christmas. “My Baby Lux just likes kittens and puppies and that sort. What torture for me.”

“You jest,” Harry says, “But Bertram’s quite a good pet. Doesn’t shed hair. Doesn’t make noise. Keeps her happy.”

“That’s what counts, innit?”

“Yeah.” Harry rolls over so that his back can soak in the sun. He yawns spectacularly. “If I start to burn, kick me.”

“With pleasure and pride,” Lou assures him. Harry glances up the swell of the beach to where Millie and Lux are crawling around near a bed of seaweed, Millie jabbering and pointing at something with undue authority as Paul keeps out a fond eye. Harry can just barely hear Louis’ and Liam’s yells from out on the ocean where they’re cheering each other catching waves, and he _can’t believe Louis is twenty-three years old_ and they’re spending Christmas in Australia.

There are many moments, and this is one of them, that Harry can’t believe his life is real.

He isn’t sure how much later it is – although Lou never kicked him awake, so it mustn’t be too long – before Millie’s scraggly, wet, beach-smelly self settles down on Harry’s back so that she’s sitting cross-legged and heavy right over his bladder in a slightly dangerous way.

Harry _oof_ s and _budge up, Bean_ s and she stands just long enough for him to sit up so that she can scramble into his lap.

“Hi, Daddy,” she chirps happily. Her curls are a riot of sand and salt and seaweed and the bridge of her nose and tips of her cherub cheeks are burnt bright pink. Freckles have bloomed all over her face. 

Harry kisses her nose and squeezes her tight in a hug, shimmying a little to make her laugh. “Hi, Milliebeans. Did you find a goanna?”

“No,” Millie admits glumly. “But do you know what I did find?”

“What did you find?”

Millie lifts her hands and ticks off on her fingers. “A acorn barnacle, a blue swimmer crab but it was dead, a decorator crab but it was quite ugly in real life, a jimble – but I did not touch it nor let Luxie touch it – and fourteen limpets, six violet snail shells, and two legs off a spider crab! But not the rest of it.”

“That’s quite a haul,” Harry praises her. “D’you know where Mup is?”

“He wiped out,” Millie reports. “Now him and Liam are nursing their wounded pride.”

Harry laughs with his head thrown back. “Is that a quote?”

“It is what they told me to say,” Millie confirms. She points up the beach, beyond their fencing, towards the Ben and Jerry’s that flanks the shore. “I want an ice cream, too. Auntie Lou took Luxie but everybody said I hadta ask you, so now you know we are getting ice cream.”

“That’s not asking,” Harry reminds her, poking the side of her belly. “That’s telling.”

“Well, then I am telling you we are getting ice cream,” Millie says. She stands and lifts his hand, pulling at it determinedly. “C’mon before it all gets warm!”

Harry laughs. “Alright, alright, let’s get your dress on and we’ll get some ice cream, okay?” He fishes around in their beach bag and helps Millie pull the striped black-and-white sundress over her head. Then he takes the little stick of sunburn gel from the bottom of the bag and smooths a bit over Millie’s pink nose and cheeks before he hands her a floppy green hat. “Hat on.”

Millie stuffs it on over her curls. “ _Now_ can I get a ice cream?”

“Yes.” Harry slips his t-shirt on and pushes up to his feet. “Help me pack up the towels and we’ll go.”

Each rolling from one end of the towel as cameras whirred along the fence border, they get both towels rolled moderately neatly and jammed into the beach bag. Then Millie slips her hand into Harry’s and they hoof it up the beach and across South Steyne to the scoop shop. There are police around the perimeter to hold photographers and fans at bay, but Millie just sticks close to Harry’s side as they ease through the fray.

Louis is looking very delicious and tanned brown indeed, his hair an architecture of saltwater mess, and he looks at Harry for a long moment, weighing things in his mind, when Harry drags over two more chairs to their packed knot of three tables.

Then, in full view of all of the Australian paparazzi’s cameras, Louis kisses Harry, and it tastes like cold caramel. 

Harry blinks at him. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Louis says, and smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He squeezes Harry’s hand. “I think I’ve properly grown up now, haven’t I?”

“It’s about time,” grouses Zayn, down the table. “You’re twenty-fucking-three.”

•••

After Louis’ enormous birthday-slash-Christmas-Eve-slash-coming-out-officially-this-time dinner at Whitewater on Manly Beach, they return to their hotel, where – as usual – the 1D members and their full crew, plus the Atkin-Teasdale clan, have their own private floor booked, right at the top where the penthouse suites look out over the entire lit city, all glowing with Christmas magic. Harry keeps one hand tucked into Louis’ back pocket in the elevator the whole ride up.

When they get to their floor, Zayn swings Millie up into his arms. Niall tosses Lux in the air beside them, and both girls dissolve in giggles.

“Ready to do your Christmas caroling?” Zayn asks the girls. Behind his back, Harry and Louis meet eyes and smirk as they squeeze their tangled fingers.

Millie frowns. “Why?”

“Because it’s Christmas Eve,” Zayn says. “And you’ve got to do your caroling, right? Otherwise it just won’t feel like Christmas for anyone, will it, without snow.”

“That’s true,” Lux says. “Who are we caroling for?”

“Well, I’d thought we could go ‘round to all the rooms in the block,” Niall tells them. “And I’ll just bet there’s cookies and such waiting for us.” He pauses and gives Lux’s belly a tickle. “There better be, eh? I’m dead starving.”

“Mujhe yeh bahut pasand aya!” Millie enthuses to Zayn. “Put me down; I want to gallop.”

Zayn chuckles and sets her down and Millie immediately goes galloping down the hall, yodeling _fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la_ s. Lux wriggles herself free and tears off after her in a flurry of pink and bows. Zayn grins at Harry and Louis.

“We’re gonna try to give you two hours,” he says. “Best we can do. Now, get on; don’t waste it.”

Harry hugs Niall and pats Zayn’s cheek genially – 

Then throws Louis over his shoulder and drags him into the hotel room. He locks the door behind him with a satisfying _click_. Louis slides down Harry’s front until his toes are on the ground and their legs are slotted, warm thighs against warm thighs.

“Happy birthday,” Harry murmurs; his nose traces the shape of Louis’ nose.

“Happy Christmas,” Louis replies with an undercurrent of a laugh. He presses up on his toes to kiss Harry’s mouth. The kiss is soft and it lingers, tastes of sunshine and surf and sea and vanilla ice cream. They’ve managed to sneak away for a few quickies – well, a few quickies a day, some days – since getting to Australia, but two hours will be enough time to undress each other and kiss everywhere and do things properly in a way they’ve been denied for nearly eight weeks.

The doorknob rattles. They can just barely hear Millie’s indignant voice through the heavy door. “Hey! I cannot get in!”

“You don’t need to get in,” Zayn says patiently. “Come on, let’s go sing for Paul.”

“You know, sometimes, Daddy and Mup _lock me out_ ,” Millie reports, and neither Harry nor Louis can hold in their laughter, giving up on kissing to rest their foreheads against each other.

“Sometimes my mum and dad lock me out,” Lux offers. “But then I get ice cream.”

“I never get ice cream,” Millie grumbles. Harry listens to Zayn’s words trail off as he chivvies, “Yeah, yeah, well I know for a fact that Danielle and Liam’ve got cocoa for you in their suite, right?” and Harry kisses Louis again, soft and warm.

Louis sighs softly and Harry runs his hands over the bones in Louis’ hips. “What do you want?”

“Everything,” Louis says cheekily. “It’s my birthday.”

“Don’t know if we’ve got time for _everything_.” Harry smirks back. “What d’you want most? What’s the… perfect gift?”

“Harry, honestly, as long as I get to see you naked and get your cock down my throat, I don’t care that much,” Louis laughs, pushing at Harry’s chest to walk him back towards the bedroom. “We’re not in like a heartwarming gay porno Christmas family film. That – would be weird, and have a _really_ small market.” He shakes his head to clear it. “Anyway, the point is, just _fuck_ me, Styles.”

Harry grins his dirtiest grin sits on the edge of the bed; he loops his fingers into Louis’ waistband to pull him up close. Louis steps between Harry’s knees and Harry smudges kisses up Louis’ zipper, opening his mouth so that warmth seeps through the fabric and Louis sighs, fingers threading through Harry’s hair.

“Lie down on your back,” Louis murmurs. “No, wait, first get naked. Yes. Get naked first.”

Harry laughs, delighted, eyes shining, as he complies, leaving his shirt and shorts in a heap on the floor with Louis’. As soon as their clothes are off, they’re pressed against each other, kissing feverishly and deep; Louis’ hands slide all over Harry’s chest, measuring his pecs and abs and down into the ticklish hollows of his hips where the v-muscles cut sharp, beautiful lines. Harry runs one hand up into Louis’ hair, cupping the back of his head to keep their mouths joined, and leads Louis down to the bed.

They roll to their sides, stroking skin everywhere, and Harry kisses his way across Louis’ ribs as he arranges himself down on the bed.

Louis tries to wait for Harry to be ready to go, too, but it’s his birthday and he’s been denied for _ages_ and he can’t help it – he just licks forward and sucks at the head of Harry’s cock, hands steadying Harry’s hips carefully to guide him deeper into Louis’ mouth. Harry groans and the warm air rushes over Louis’ own prick, making precome smear over his belly and Harry’s lips. Harry flicks his tongue out over Louis’ slit to catch more, then slowly suckles in, taking a mouthful and making it messy so he can use precome and spit to smooth the way for his hand, pumping slowly to help Louis last, but twisting at the base in just the way that _wrecks_ him. His other hand comes up to roll over Louis’ balls once – Louis doesn’t really like that as much as Harry does, but he’s stuck in a stasis of sort of determined curiosity – before Louis groans around Harry’s prick and spreads his thighs, letting Harry stroke down between his cheeks and over the flutter of muscle there.

Harry shudders, his toes flexing and curling, as Louis finally eases all the way down, his nose pressed against the flat, groomed patch of dark hair at the root of Harry’s belly. Harry has to pull back from Louis’ cock to catch his breath, panting, and he scratches a four-row of pink stripes across the smooth round of Louis’ cheek. Louis pulls up, licking lightly and sucking at the head, to catch his breath.

“I want you,” Harry murmurs, running his fingertips through Louis’ sweat-damp hair. “Budge up, on the pillows. However you want it.”

Louis smiles, slow and dirty, his lips red and shining. He crawls slowly up the pillowcase and drops his head into his arms, arse in the air, and Harry smiles back. He lumbers off the bed and quickly riffles through his bags for the lube and condoms, then slides back onto the mattress and leans in to give Louis’ hip a teasing bite.

Harry lubes the tips of two fingers while kissing his way towards the cleft of Louis’ arse; he kisses the flat space of Louis’ tailbone, but Louis just squirms and looks over his shoulder.

“Nobody’s got time for that,” he says. “We’ve only an hour left. I’ll get you later in the shower, how about, but – just get in there already, Harry, jesus.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry laughs, and playfully smacks Louis’ arse once for insolence, making him yelp and bounce on the mattress. Harry runs a soothing hand over the length of Louis’ back to get back into the concentrated mindset he needs to prep Louis properly, but it doesn’t take long before Louis is fucking himself back onto two of Harry’s fingers, cock leaking precome everywhere.

“Alright, come on,” Louis urges, a low, growling whine in his voice. Harry bends down to kiss the wing of Louis’ shoulder blade before rolling on the condom and giving himself a few strokes.

From there, he’s fucking into Louis hard and fast, barely giving him time to catch his weight between thrusts so it’s all Louis can do to cling onto the headboard and take it. Harry groans and bends over Louis so he can brace one of his own hands on the bed to get in even deeper; his other hand starts pumping Louis’ cock again, harsh this time, with twist and drag, and when Louis comes, it’s so hard he cries out and collapses, face falling against the mattress.

Harry pulls out and yanks the condom off, jerking himself feverishly to spatter over the round crest of Louis’ arse.

Then he exhales and lets his own hot face rest against the back of Louis’ sweaty neck.

“Fuck, Harry.”

“I thought I just did,” Harry groans cheekily, and pinches a little roll of soft skin on the side of Louis’ belly. Louis makes a yowling sound like an angry cat and bats Harry’s hand away.

Harry laughs breathlessly and rolls off Louis to lie beside him on the bed, the fresh air of the room cool on his sweaty body. 

“So,” he starts, as Louis turns his head to face him. “Now everyone on Earth knows we do that.”

“That is true,” Louis agrees. He yawns. “Got a problem with that?”

“No,” Harry says honestly, and his green eyes are warm and soft as he reaches out to trace the contours of Louis’ cheek. “I’ve been proud of us since I was eighteen.”

Louis smiles back and blinks sleepily. “I’ve been proud of us since before we were actually a thing. I just – seeing what it was like to really have to, _really_ have to hide it, and like, really… it just was like, kicked me in the head to understand that we’re really lucky that the worst we get is insults and all. I am proud of us, Harry. You asked me once if I was ashamed and I said no, but I think I was a bit. But I’m not anymore. If us being a thing makes other people feel safer being them, then… I think that’s important. But,” he pauses, and shifts uncomfortably on his belly, “I _am_ spiteful that you spunked all over my backside. Honestly, Harry, this side of the bed is just going to be disgusting.”

Harry just laughs and rolls up onto one side so he can kiss the corner of Louis’ mouth; they shift until Harry is lying above Louis again, their hips cradled together with soft cocks and a mess of Louis’ come between them, and they kiss gently for a long time just because they _can_.

 

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	26. Chapter 26

The next morning, Louis rouses Millie from her little cot with a hot cocoa made from the pithy percolater in their suite kitchen, and Harry snaps dozens of photos of her riffling through the big red stocking stuffed with odd Aussie sweets he’d bought in a shop while she was distracted back in Melbourne. It's the first Christmas of Millie’s life – or Harry’s – that they're spending away from Anne, and despite the massive time difference, they call Holmes Chapel and Doncaster on Skype over breakfast.

“Happy Christmas, darlings!” Anne enthuses. “Little miss, what’s that you’ve got?”

“Jelly snakes!” Millie chirps, holding them up for the camera. She has a chocolate mustache over her lip and her hair is an Albert Einstein mess. “And chocolate Freddo Frogs!”

“Wow!” Anne says, and smiles at them. “How is Sydney?”

“Warm,” Louis says smugly. “Sunshiney. Lovely. How is picturesque Cheshire?”

“Cold,” Anne laughs. “Dreary. Lonely without my little ones.” She smiles and Harry clears his throat, embarrassed to be choking up a bit when he isn’t even the one left alone. “Gemma and Eleanor are coming by for tea and Doctor Who later; it’ll be a grand time. What are your plans today?”

“A boat!” Millie chirrups. “I am never been on a boat, have I?”

“Hmm,” Harry hums, kissing the top of her head. “I can’t remember. Maybe a small one like a ferry somewhere, probably. Not a nice one like this.”

“Grannanna, have you been on a boat?” Millie asks, and tears the head off a gummi snake with her teeth.

“Yes, a long time ago,” Anne says. “Before your daddy was born.”

“Are you even older than my daddy?” Millie asks with her mouth full. Her eyes are wide. “I need to be more older than more people. Jeezaloo.”

“Don’t say ‘jeezaloo’ on _Christmas_ ,” Louis hisses, and tickles Millie’s belly. She writhes and squirms herself off the bed to scamper into the suite sitting room again. Louis sighs and rolls his eyes. “I’m terribly sorry for her hideous blasphemy on this sacred day,” he apologizes to Anne, smirking just a bit.

“It’s still only the 24TH here,” Anne says, and shrugs. “So happy birthday, Lou. Have you called your mum?”

“Last night here, yeah,” Louis says. “It was morning for you, I think. I can’t quite keep it straight.”

“Can you really keep anything straight?” Harry cracks in a muffled laugh to the side of Louis’ neck, and Louis smacks the back of his head.

“Daddy!” Millie yells from the sitting room, “I am hungry for eggs and cheese and toast, please!”

Harry smiles into the camera at his mum. “Sounds like I’m being paged to order room service. I love you, Mum. I’ll call you later.”

“I love you, too, darling. Happy Christmas. And love to you, too, Louis, with a last happy birthday.”

Their screen chimes its bubbling sound and switches over to black; Harry turns his head to kiss Louis’ lips gently. 

“Happy Christmas,” he murmurs. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“You, too,” Louis agrees, and nuzzles Harry’s nose. “Now let’s go feed the snake charmer.”

They order up a massive breakfast spread, with Millie’s favorite scrambled eggs and cheese and sausage for Louis, like their usual Christmas breakfasts, but a light, airy, sweet Pavlova with kiwi and strawberries – perfect Christmas colors – shares the tray, and it goes perfectly with bitter Yorkshire tea.

Liam and Danielle knock on their door at half-ten with a little giftbox for Millie. Harry offers them the remainder of the Pavlova and some tea, which they accept gratefully while Millie tears into the present.

“Ooh!” she crows, holding up the silver card. “It is pretty! What is it?”

“It’s a gift voucher,” Liam explains. “You get to spend the night at Whipsnade Zoo in October with, erm, if you’d like, with Danielle and me, and erm, have dinner with the zookeepers and see the nocturnal animals. I know it’s a bit of time until then, but we’ll barely be in London anyway, and I – I mean, I thought you’d be excited anyway, erm, but if you’re not – ”

Liam’s interrupted by Millie launching herself at him and hugging him so tightly around the neck that he topples backwards into the arm of the sofa.

“Thank you!” Millie shrieks at high decibel right into his ear. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!” She slobbers a kiss on his cheek and then bounds over to Danielle, clambering up into her lap to bury her face in Danielle’s hair. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

Liam is a bit blushy and smiles, pleased, at Danielle as Millie jumps up to bounce around the room, screeching atonally and jumping from foot to foot and waving her silver gift announcement in the air like she’s just found the last Golden Ticket in a Wonka bar. Once she’s tired herself out, she collapses right on Liam’s feet and stares up at him adoringly from beneath her mop of hair. “What do I do at the zoo?”

“Erm, there’s a tour,” Liam says, “And erm, we’ll sleep in a lodge, so it’s not like camping, really. Dinner is next to the tiger enclosure, and you sleep by the giraffes and all. And there’s a late-night tour for the nocturnal animals and then a morning tour for the birds and stuff, and erm, free entrance to the zoo and aquarium the next day.”

Millie hugs his knees and murmurs _thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou_ , and Harry pets her hair to calm her while Louis gives Liam a noogie.

After Millie’s calmed down enough to take her bath and brush her teeth and put on sunscreen, they all head down to the beach in a shuttle van; their boat is glorious. They board and graze on fruit and pastries as they set sail out into the marina, and once they’ve set anchor, Harry strips out of his shirt and dives into the blue water to swim. Louis follows soon after, then Tom and Liam. Only Zayn, Lou Teasdale, Lux, and Millie remain aboard the boat once the sun has climbed to a summer-bright high noon.

Millie’s face is a bit thunderous as she looks down at Harry and Louis playing in the water.

“Daddy,” Millie whines, pulling at the life vest’s collar where it’s crawling up her neck and threatening to choke her. “I don’t wanna wear this!”

“I’m sorry, sweet bean, but you can’t swim with your face underwater yet so you’ve to wear it to be safe,” Harry explains, ruffling her hair.

Millie glares daggers. “Zayn can’t swim neither and he doesn’t got one.”

•••

>   
> **FLOATY FITTY: ZAYN BOARDS THE SS PHWOAR**  
>  _ZAYN MAKES SEA SAFETY LOOK STYLISH_  
>  We’re still not sure how time works in Australia… can someone please tell us? At any rate, sometime in the last or next few days, photos were or will be taken of the One Direction clan, complete with Millie Styles and Baby Lux, out on a yacht off Sydney Harbor. While most of the boys took a dip in the bull shark-infested waters, Zayn and the littl’uns stayed on deck with lifejackets.
> 
> Back in 2012, Zayn confessed: “I’m also scared of water as I can’t swim.” And way back in the day when One Direction were wee, Zayn had a fright filming the video for “Gotta Be You” (remember that one?!). Zayn said: “Louis tipped my canoe over when we were in the lake and forgot I couldn’t swim. It wasn’t funny as the water was very deep. I was worried.”
> 
> Looks like a lack of the backstroke landed Zayn in the land of babysitting instead of the land down under!
> 
> UPDATE: “Baby Lux” has tweeted on her @Real_BabyLux twitter account: “Millie and I can both swim... We were sad we had to babysit Zayn!”
> 
> Maybe the girls can give Z a lesson!

•••

They move on to Brisbane just after Christmas and will be there through New Year’s Day, which they plan to spend at Lone Pine meeting koalas. When they depart in the wee hours of the morning for New Zealand, Danielle and the Teasdale-Atkins will leave for the UK, so Millie clings to Lux’s pudgy hand through the late-night New Year’s Eve celebration fireworks and on into breakfast.

At the koala sanctuary, though, she leaves Lux in the dust and gallops at top speed to keep pace with their tour guide.

“Um, did you know ‘koala’ means ‘no drink’?” Millie asks the trainer, stumbling a bit over her shoes as she skips to keep up. “Because koalas don’t drink water. They eat leaves.”

“That’s right,” the trainer says. He sounds suitably impressed. “What else do you know about koalas?”

“They are marsupials,” Millie reports. “Like wombats. And, they got chlamydia.”

The trainer blinks, looking a bit startled.

“Oh! And they got fingerprints!” Millie adds, completely unperturbed. “No two koalas are the same, just like people.”

Millie is too small to hold the koala herself, so she sits on Zayn’s lap and they carefully hold the koala together. Millie’s face is only inches from its inquisitive, funny nose, and the koala, Bev, blinks curiously at her and leans in, sniffing at Millie’s hair.

“Zayn!” Millie hisses. “What is she doing?”

“Just seeing if you’re a friend,” Zayn assures her. He kisses the top of the koala’s fuzzy head.

Millie gently pets the soft hair along Bev’s back. “Hi, Koala. I am Bee. I am a friend.” She pauses, and nervously adds, “Do not bite me, please.”

Bev retreats from Millie’s hair and bumps her gumdrop nose into Millie’s, blinking blearily again. Millie smiles and beams up at Zayn, who smiles back. 

When it’s Louis’ turn to hold Bev, she gets an enamored look on her face like she can’t believe she’s being held by _Louis Tomlinson_ , and it’s so cute that Millie swoons a little with her clasped hands beneath her chin while Harry tweets a photo captioned _New friend! Want to bring her home with us!! .x_

“Lads,” Paul warns, “We’re running a bit low on time to get to the airport.”

“Harry, do you want to share a turn?” Liam asks, gesturing to the koala.

“As long as I don’t have to sit on your lap.” Harry shrugs, and Millie giggles behind her hands.

Their trainer helps arrange the snuggly koala in the basket of their arms, and then, just as Louis is snapping a photo –

“Ugh!”

“Oh, dear, oh dear!”

Millie’s eyes and mouth go round and she points. “Bev made a wee!”

Louis covers his mouth with both hands and crumples over on himself laughing. Niall sits right down on the dusty floor, already almost crying in his own howling laughter, and their trainer quickly hurries in to help.

Harry looks down at his wet shirt and pulls a face. “This is terrible.”

Millie chews on her fingers and stares from where Danielle is holding her back in a light, warm hug. “Daddy, are you okay?”

“Yeah, sweetie,” Harry sighs. “I’m fine.”

“Is Bev okay?” Millie chirps next, pointing to the trainer where he’s cradling the abashed-looking koala.

“She’s just fine,” he assures her. “Probably more relieved than she felt a minute ago, right?”

Paul tries hard to keep a straight face as he shakes his head, but the amusement in his eyes belies him. “I’ll go buy some souvenir shirts for you two.”

Louis carries Millie on his back (“Like a joey!”) as they file out of the sanctuary and back to the vans, Liam and Niall trailing at the end of the line.

“I don’t know how I’m going to tell Danielle that I might have chlamydia,” Liam tells Niall in a worried undertone.

“I doubt it just from wee, mate,” Niall says honestly, clapping Liam on the shoulder. “If you really did get it from the koala, I’d have to really wonder at what you get up to in your private life.”

•••

Their stay in New Zealand is short – just enough time to fly in, play a show in Wellington, play a show in Auckland, and get to the airport – because their next trip takes a whopping twelve hours, not counting the delays getting all of their gear and luggage through customs.

They land at night, so they can go straight to sleep and acclimate to the new time zone, but Louis keeps Millie awake until they reach their hotel by playing guessing games and telephone with her in the shuttle. They’re wearing their matching travel pajamas; this time, the orange and blue apatosauri.

Millie presses her nose to the cold window of the van as they rush down a street with twinkling lights. “What country is we in?”

“Are,” Louis corrects her gently, finger-combing through her curls. “We’re in Japan.”

“Where is Japan?” Millie asks, craning her neck around to look up at him. She yawns spectacularly and sways a little in her seat, so Louis unbuckles her and lifts her into his lap.

“Asia,” Louis says. “What kinds of animals live in Japan, bean?”

“Dugongs,” Millie starts, then interrupts herself with another shivering yawn. She looks a bit startled after and smacks her lips. “Macaques. Birds. Ussuri bears. That is all, I think.”

“I think you’re forgetting one,” Louis says, and kisses the side of her head.

Millie tilts her head. “What?”

“The giant salamander,” Louis tells her. “One of the biggest amphibians in the world.”

Millie’s lower lip pokes out. “That makes me sad. Bobo was a salamander, but he was very small.”

Louis brushes her hair back from her face gently. “That’s true, he was. D’you remember Bobo even though you were so little?”

“Of course,” Millie pushes. “I loved him. And now I miss Bertram very much.” She nuzzles her face into Louis’ chest. Beside them, Harry surreptitiously dozes with his head against the windowpane, but he reaches over sleepily to rest his hand on Millie’s leg. “Muppie, I want to gogo… go home.” She smudges her face along his shoulder. “I miss mine lizards and my bed and I miss our home.”

Louis rubs her back in soothing circles. “I do, too,” he sighs. “But we’re still a ways from being able to go home, little bean. We’re still on an adventure.”

Millie’s breath shudders as she exhales again and Louis’ shirt feels a bit wet where her eyes brim with tears. “It is a lot of travel for little old me.”

Louis keeps rubbing her back and tucks her head under his chin. “I know. It’s a lot of travel for me, too.”

“Can you stay with me here?” Millie asks, and her voice is very small.

Louis laughs – or sobs – once softly through his nose, and Harry’s hand pats Millie’s leg again. “Yes, sweetie. I can stay with you for the whole rest of the tour.”

“Whoopie-doo,” Millie murmurs, and lifts her head to give Louis a tired smile. When their van pulls up to the hotel near Kitanomaru Park, Millie waves off Louis’ offer to carry her and bravely climbs out of the van, tottering on tired, short legs, and grasps onto two of Harry’s fingers as they trudge into the hotel. She’s still dragging her threadbare stuffed alligator behind her, even though one of his eyes has mysteriously gone missing since they left Scotland.

She makes it up to their room, even though she stumbles once over her own toes in the hall and whimpers a bit, choosing to crawl the rest of the way. She still doesn’t use her legs much when crawling, and moves like the lizards she loves so much. Harry lets her go straight to bed without brushing her teeth or washing her face because she’s so sleepy, and scarcely takes the time to do them himself before falling into the other bed, face to the pillows.

Louis feels oddly awake despite not having slept in almost 30 hours. He unpacks a selection of their clothes to hang in the suite’s small cupboard, and sets out the tea kettle and bags of Yorkshire for the morning, since all the room is stocking is green tea, which, although he’s sure it’s very good, is not what Louis Tomlinson drinks. He fixes himself a mug of Yorkshire just to calm himself down a bit, then sits on the uncomfortable wooden chairs near their small, square wooden breakfast table and looks out the window at the Tokyo skyline.

It’s a shame, but he’s stopped remembering the differences between cities as they travel so quickly. He’s stopped even noticing them.

Tokyo’s lights are all blue and green and red; the shape of the city more waves than slices or spires. He thinks he likes it. It’s not London, though: it’s not home. He watches the blinking light on a bridge as he sips at his tea slowly.

He startles when warm, strong, sleep-musky arms drape over his shoulders from behind, and Harry rumble-hums low and tired in his ear. 

“What’cha doing up?” Harry murmurs, and presses a kiss to the sensitive triangle between Louis’ neck, shoulder, and back. “Y’alright?”

“Yeah, I’m alright,” Louis promises softly, and rubs his hand over Harry’s tanned forearm. “Just having trouble… getting quiet. In my head.”

Harry kisses his way up the back of Louis’ neck to nuzzle into the back of Louis’ head, smelling his hair. “D’you want to talk?”

“It’s alright,” Louis says, and turns his head to give Harry a little smile. “You can sleep.”

“I can’t actually,” Harry says, and nestles his cheek against the wing of Louis’ shoulder. “I can’t fall asleep without you in bed with me. Just doesn’t feel right.”

Louis tilts his head so he can nudge it against Harry’s. “Hey. Come up here and kiss me, you.”

Harry smiles and settles himself down, heavy, in Louis’ lap. He wraps his arms around Louis’ neck and pulls him down for a languid, late-night kiss, the sort of kiss not meant to lead anywhere and the sort of kiss that lives in suspended time. Louis’ mouth is warm and bitter from his tea, and Harry is slow and quiet to kiss him, Louis’ fingers carded gently through Harry’s hair. They don’t get hard just from kissing each other every time anymore, and that’s okay. It’s too late and they’re too far from home and Harry can tell that Louis needs something else, more.

He nuzzles Louis’ nose and lets his eyelashes tattoo a soft beat against Louis’ cheekbones. “You look good in this light. We should come back someday, when there’s time to explore. Just us.”

Louis hums noncommittally, his thumb running over the soft shell of Harry’s ear. “I think I want to be a big homebody when we’re old. Just putter about the flat and bother you while you do my cooking and washing up and tear my hair out over Millie’s significant others.”

“My proper dramedy husband,” Harry jokes, and leans in to nip at Louis’ lip. He rests his forehead against Louis’ and lets his hands float over Louis’ broad, warm back, feeling out muscles. “If that’s what you’d like, we can do it. But I’ve been thinking a bit about something.”

Louis cups his hand over Harry’s hipbone. “What’s that?”

“I think we should buy a house,” Harry says softly. “With, like, a lawn and windows and… stuff.”

“Windows and everything?” Louis teases softly, his heart clenched and warm in his chest. His thumb dips into the hollow of Harry’s hip. “Okay.”

“Yeah?” Harry leans in and tucks his face into Louis’ neck, taking full advantage of being smaller and slighter for once. “I mean, that’s – it’s a big commitment to pay for, you know, like it wouldn’t be Syco footing the bill this time, so – ”

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, a little too loudly, “I am not leaving you or Millie. House or flat, or bills, or – whatever, I’m not leaving.” He kisses the side of Harry’s head where his curls are tickling him. “And I can putter around a house bothering you just as well as I can putter around the flat. We’re outgrowing it a bit anyway, aren’t we. The flat, not the bothering.”

“That’s basically what I was thinking,” Harry agrees, nodding against Louis’ skin. “Bean is getting bigger and – well, I love living near the boys ‘cause it’s dead useful for babysitting but I think might be, like, nice, or like, important, maybe, to try living apart from them on our own, really, ‘cause we never have. And I think Millie should get, like, kid stuff, you know, like I had, like… a bicycle or rollerblades or something.”

“I think she’d love that,” Louis agrees. “We should get a dog. I really want a dog.”

“Could we get a cat?” Harry asks.

“We could get a menagerie,” Louis suggests. “Dog, cat, Bertram.”

“A room above the garage where Niall can grow old,” Harry waxes, quoting Chandler, and Louis laughs with his eyes crinkled even though he doesn’t make any noise. 

He kisses the thin skin at the corner of Harry’s eye. “Alright. We can start looking at estate agents when we get home, if you like.”

“Maybe Marble Arch?” Harry asks sleepily. “I’m concerned about – Millie with school again, though. We need to like, talk to neighbors and teachers and all. I don’t ever want to have that problem again.”

Louis rubs Harry’s back. “Can’t promise that.”

“Sloane Square might be nice,” Harry murmurs. “It’s supposed to be like… good, near Chelsea and Knightsbridge.”

“We can worry about it later,” Louis promises. “You’ve to go to sleep, H. You’re dozing off.”

“Come to bed?” Harry asks, stumbling to his feet. Louis stands behind him, leaving his tea mug on the table, and kisses the back of Harry’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “I’ll be right in after you. Want to brush my teeth and all.”

Harry shushes off to the bedroom, and the door creaks slightly on its hinges as he eases it open. Before he tucks into the dark room, Harry leans against the jamb and asks, “Lou?”

“Yeah, Harry? What’s up?”

“I just love you.”

Louis looks up at Harry, tall and broad and mop-haired in the door, bags under his huge green eyes dark as bruises. His long, pale fingers are knit together like he’s nervous and his toes are cobbled inwards.

Louis smiles at him and crosses the room to slide his hand over Harry’s jaw, pull him down for another kiss. “I love you, too. Go on and get in bed.”

•••

After Tokyo they jet into Seoul, where Niall falls under the weather and spends their few days in the city trapped in his bed, whining and eating hot bowls of _juk_ and _samgyetang_. The Japanese market was enthusiastic about One Direction – they’d sold out the Budokan for one show, which was exciting enough to make Zayn run a circuit around the green room yodeling – but the Korean market was skittish and temperamental, more inclined to see 1D as poseurs in favor of their own idols than give them an open-minded shake like Japan. Having one-fifth of the group out sick just wasn’t an option for their Haeorum Theatre show, so a doctor was brought around to give Niall a vitamin-B shot in the bum.

He makes it through the show, but spends the next day and the evening flight to Shanghai curled up in abject misery, cursing out everyone who attempted to approach him. 

To Louis’ torment, Harry seems to have caught the bug, because his first act in China is to yell for Paul to stop the van, get out, and heave all over the side of the road.

Millie looks to Louis with round eyes and knit brows. “Is mine Daddy okay?”

Louis pulls Millie into his lap and strokes her hair while, outside the van window, Paul holds Harry up and talks in clipped tones into his mobile. “Yeah, sweetie. He’ll be okay.”

“Is he sick?” Millie persists. 

“It looks like it, doesn’t it?” Louis defers. “But you’ve been ill before.”

Millie shakes her head. “I do not want it. I do not like throwing up.”

“Well, nobody _likes_ , silly bean,” Louis says absently, frowning out the window at Harry’s pale face.

“Dhaval did at school,” Millie reports. “He done it every day after milk time.”

“Gross,” says Louis.

“Stop,” groans Niall, “Or we’ll start a chain reaction.”

Once Harry gets back into the van, he stays tucked up near the open window, Millie staring at him over the back of her seat nervously. 

Louis gives her back a pat. “Sit down right, bean. Or you’ll get carsick, too.”

Millie sighs and turns around again, snuggling up to Louis. He kisses the top of her curly head and gives her knee a comforting pat.

Harry gets his own room at the hotel to keep him in quarantine away from everyone. He croaks to Louis to keep Millie out of his room so she doesn’t get ill, and Louis nods, kissing two of his fingers and touching them to Harry’s cheek.

Millie clutches her alligator and stares up at Louis, looking extra-small. “Mine Daddy cannot stay with me here?” She chews on her fingers nervously. “Does people say bad things about Daddies?”

“Oh, sweetie, no,” Louis assures her, and lifts her up to carry her on his hip. “Your daddy just doesn’t want you to get ill, right? That’s no fun to be ill. And you should have fun on our adventure!” He leans in and rubs his nose along Millie’s in a bunny-kiss. “Look, it’s still early today. D’you want to go do something fun, just us? Bee and Muppie date?”

“Yeah!” Millie enthuses, but her eyebrows stay a bit creased with worry. Louis gives her a squeaky, smacking kiss on the forehead and Millie giggles, her face brightening. 

Louis takes Millie out to find some dinner, and – although maybe he’s not taking advantage of being in _actual China_ \-- is pleased to find a Canadian steakhouse with food they both recognize and like, because, although he would rather deny it if asked, Louis is something of a picky eater. Millie gets an enormous amount of chicken strips for the equivalent of £4, and Louis lets her recount the tale of the weeing koala four times over the course of one dinner. 

Then, Millie stops, and drops her chicken strip, her face perturbed. 

“Muppie,” she asks loudly, “Does my daddy get chlamydia from Bev?”

Louis’ face drops into his hands as he laughs uproariously, tears in his eyes, and he can’t stop until he chokes on his own spit and gets a hacking cough that makes Millie scuttle down from her chair and run around the table to thump him on the back. 

When Louis’ done wheezing, he pats her head. “No,” he says firmly. “Your dad does _not_ have chlamydia.”

Millie scowls. “Why is it funny? He is ill!”

“That’s true, he is ill,” Louis agrees, and feels the giggles start up again in the back of his throat. “But – sweetie, just – don’t worry about it. He’s just got a bug from Niall.”

Millie stares Louis down with great suspicion, but skips back to her chair and clambers up. She keeps giving him little glares as she finishes her chicken strips, but it’s only because Louis keeps breaking down in arias of little snorting laughs.

After they’ve eaten, it’s begun to rain, so they run across the street so Louis can buy them both yellow plastic rain ponchos and a big blue umbrella. Millie begs to carry the umbrella herself, so Louis sits her up in his arms and she proudly holds it up high enough to cover them both as they wander the street down towards The Bund. They look out over the fantasy-futuristic cityscape, and Millie coos as she points out her favorite buildings. Louis kisses her cheek, and Millie beams at him, kissing him back.

On their way back to the hotel, Louis buys her a little puff of white candy because it’s called “Dragon’s Beard,” and Millie lets him hold the umbrella so she can dig in with both hands. She sticks it to her chin and chatters _I am a dragon now! Shhhh!_ and Louis laughs, taking a bite out of her sugar beard.

When Harry still isn’t well two days later, they have to perform without him at the Shanghai Concert Hall. It’s never the same performing without a member, but being without Harry is almost like being without Louis, too. Millie is subdued backstage, reading about pandas on her ZooFax since Zayn and Liam had taken her out to the Shanghai Zoo in the morning to see the Giant Pandas and South China Tigers. It was thrilling, and she came home with her face painted like a little panda herself, but without Harry around, she’s grown listless and a bit snappish.

Late that night, after the concert – nearing three o’clock in the morning – the lock on Harry’s hotel room door clicks, and there’s a little padding sound coming up to his bed. He’s still faintly miserable, although nearly 50 hours of sleep in three days has done him miracles.

“Daddy?” Millie whispers, and the bed shakes as she pulls herself up. “Daddy, are you awake?”

Harry rolls over and snuffles. “I am now, bean. Why’re you in here?”

“I missed you,” Millie murmurs plaintively, and scoots across the mattress to fuss with Harry’s greasy hair. Her eyes are huge in the dark and reflect the lights of the city through the window. “I never not seen you this long before.”

Harry blinks, and doesn’t tell her _no, the first two months of your life, I was gone_. For Millie, Harry has always been there, and knowing that lifts a huge weight from his shoulders. Somehow, he feels physically better at the thought.

“I’m sorry, littlest bean,” Harry says, and props himself up on his pillows so he can switch on the bedside lamp. “Are you and Mup getting along?”

“Oh, yes,” Millie assures him. “I seen pandas today, Daddy.”

“Really?” Harry asks, and scotches over so Millie can tuck up on the other pillow beside him. “Did you like them?”

“They were cute!” Millie explains, grinning. “I seen them eat bamboo and one pooped and two was in trees and they moved a lot!”

“Wow,” Harry says appreciatively. “I wish I could have gone. I like pandas.”

Millie’s cheek dimples. “Me, too.”

Harry smiles gently down at her. “I missed you, too, little bean. I don’t like being away from you.”

“Well,” Millie muses, “You got to be sometimes, as I am rather old now. But please not for three days, please.”

Harry chuckles, then coughs and winces. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Are you well yet?”

“Nearly,” Harry promises. “Did you tell your Mup you were escaping or did you come wander about the hotel in a foreign country all on your own?”

“I did by myself,” Millie confirms. “Muppie is sleeping.”

Harry taps the tip of her nose. “You need to stop taking our keys and going out by yourself like this. You’re going to get kidnapped.”

Millie’s eyes go wide. “No. I will punch the kidnapper in the face!”

Harry sighs heavily and his shoulders slump. “Alright, fine. The one time you’re allowed ever to punch anyone in the face again is if they’re kidnapping you. Otherwise, _no hitting_.”

Millie looks for a moment like she might argue, but instead she launches herself into Harry’s arms and buries her face in his chest. “Okay, Daddy.” 

Harry rubs her back, holding her close. “I love you, little bean.”

“I love you too, Daddy. But you smell really bad.” She lifts her head and wrinkles her nose. “You should gogogo to the shower if you want Muppie still to love you.”

Harry laughs again, a little affronted, and shifts Millie off him so he can, indeed, go take a hot shower. He thinks that may be all he needs to feel well again. “Little bean, when people love each other as much as me and your mup do, it doesn’t matter how bad you smell.”

Millie smiles adoringly as Harry gives her a wink and shuts the bathroom door.

•••

“Why… the fuck… did we choose to go to fucking Moscow… in _January_?” Zayn grouses, winding his scarf around his throat. “Does no one fucking ever learn that world takeovers that try Russia in winter _always fail_?”

“Daddy!” Millie whines, peeking out from her layers of coat and scarf and hat, “I’m cold still!”

“I know, bean, I know,” Harry commiserates, and lifts her up so she can stick her little icy hands into the neck of his coat to steal his warmth as they wait to board their shuttle van.

“God, this is worse than that one Skins episode,” Niall complains. “And I’m not being Anwar. Harry and Louis are Tony and Maxxie, obviously, with all the head – ”

“Niall!” Louis yelps. “Four-year-old!”

“Whatever, she lives with you,” Niall whines, and stuffs his blue hands into his armpits. “This sucks. I am not gettin’ hacksawed by an angry bear-man.”

“Aw, Nialler, you and me can be Chris and Angie,” Zayn offers, and nuzzles the side of Niall’s face with his cold nose, and Niall squeaks and pushes Zayn away hard, rubbing at the cold spot on his cheek.

Liam, who had called Danielle when they landed – after the ten-hour flight – comes back to their little woolly knot, looking dazed.

“Payner, are you loving the weather?” Niall asks, and sticks his own cold nose on Liam’s neck.

Liam just blinks. “I – I feel a bit ill.”

“Oh, no; Liam, I’m sorry,” Harry says contritely, reaching out to put his hand on Liam’s arm. “D’you want me to run for Paul?”

“No, I – erm, I’m not, erm, ill like that, I’m just – oh, I need to sit, I think,” Liam says, and Zayn pushes over a suitcase that Liam collapses onto. 

And suddenly, Harry recognizes what’s wrong with Liam, and crouches down next to him to put his hand on his knee.

“Not a scare this time?” he asks quietly, and Liam looks up with a pale face and bright eyes.

“No.” Liam clears his throat, and his voice wavers in an embarrassing, high falsetto when he says, once quietly and again louder, “Danielle is pregnant. Six weeks, she says. Her doctor says. Well, it – would have to be, that’s -- last I saw her, and – just, yes. Australia. Gosh. Australia. Oh, jeez.”

There’s a silence, and then Zayn hugs Liam roughly around the neck, kissing his cheek. “Congrats, man.”

“Yeah, yeah!” chimes in Niall, swooping down to ruffle Liam’s hair. “Pass on my love to her, too.”

“Wait!” Millie cries, holding out her hands. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I am excited!”

Harry grins at Millie and holds out his arm so she can scamper in and cuddle close, head tucked under Harry’s chin as she stares at Liam. “Bean, Danielle and Liam are going to have a baby.”

Millie’s eyes go round and she drums her hands on Liam’s knee. “Am I got a cousin finally?”

Harry laughs and kisses the back of her head through her knit wool cap. “Sure, sweetie.”

“Is it a girl baby or a boy baby?” Millie asks. “I only like girl babies.”

“Well, what if it’s a boy?” Louis asks, tugging on the pom-pom atop her hat. “Will you still love it?”

Millie thinks about this. “I will love it. But I will not like it.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	27. Chapter 27

After Millie’s gone to sleep, the boys all convene in the sitting room of Harry- and Louis’ hotel suite to toast Liam with real Russian vodka. Their room is the biggest in their block, since they need two separate bedrooms; Niall spends a bit of time whining about how they get their own Jacuzzi in the bathroom while all he had was a bidet.

“I’m just saying,” he grumps. “Sometimes us single folk want to relax in a hot tub, too.”

Louis laughs and drapes himself over Niall’s neck to nose at his ear like an obstinate puppy. Niall grumbles, but doesn’t push him off as Zayn pours out five shots from an imposingly large bottle of Elit. He passes them around and lifts his glass in Liam’s direction, a knowing smile on his face. “To Liam and Danielle, innit?”

Liam blushes, and they all drink.

“ _Yikes_ ,” is Harry’s comment after throwing back the shot.

“Dosvidanya!” Niall agrees. He shrugs. “That’s the only Russian I know.”

Zayn tosses his glass from hand to hand and looks up from beneath his eyelashes. “D’you know the first time I had straight vodka was at the bungalow that first summer?”

“I had a hunch,” Louis says, his nose wrinkled with giggles, as he pushes at Zayn’s arm. “You did not take that well.”

Zayn smirks. “I deffo cut it with water when you weren’t looking, too.”

“Well, that’s fair,” Louis admits. “I’d spiked it with 88% anyway.”

Zayn wraps his arm around Louis’ neck and pulls him down to muss with his hair. “Fucker.”

Harry smiles fondly at them, then wraps his arm around Liam’s shoulders and rubs Liam’s arm. Liam turns his own shotglass around in his hands, shoulders set in contemplation. “I’m going to be a _dad_.”

Harry laughs. “This whole night is a throwback to the bungalow then, isn’t it – definite ‘gonna be a dad’ flashbacks.”

“Except now we’re in _Russia_ ,” Louis points out, gesturing wildly for Niall to pour him another drink. “Did you think for even a second back then that this would happen?”

“Yes,” says Niall. “I had a good feeling about X Factor. I just generally think the best about things.”

“Well, I didn’t think it’d go this far,” Louis says. “Even if we _won_ , who’d been big outside England off X Factor before us? Leona had the one song, but – I just thought we’d do two albums in the UK and maybe go on Eurovision or something. I never…” Louis trails off and shakes his head, then takes the shot. “I just never thought I’d get all this out of the stupid X Factor, you know?”

Harry reaches across Zayn to rest his hand on Louis’ cheek, and Louis turns to kiss Harry’s fingertips. Zayn makes a face at Niall across from them, and Niall laughs – but his eyes are soft as he looks at Harry and Louis.

“I didn’t think we had a chance in hell, if I’m honest,” Liam says, and snorts a wet laugh. He gets drunk _so_ quickly since he started drinking so much later in life. “Especially after – sorry, Harry, but… I just thought our lives were _over_ when you said you were having a kid. And now we’re in Russia, and she’s sleeping like – right in that room right there, and now, now _I’m_ having a kid. And our lives aren’t over at all.”

“We can’t be a boy band anymore if we got two dads.” Niall flips his glass in the air and catches it swiftly to pour himself a second shot. “We’ve got to be a – I dunno, a _man_ band.”

Louis cuffs Liam on the back. “I shoulda known you’d be the second of us to get someone pregnant, but I really kind of thought it’d be Niall.”

Liam glances up from his shotglass and looks to Zayn, and Harry’s brow furrows as he follows the gaze. 

“Zayn?”

Zayn nods. “Third,” Zayn corrects quietly. “He’s the third. Technically. Perrie was for a while a few years ago. But – yeah, just for a little while.”

Harry twists his glass between his fingers and looks down at it, but Louis looks up at Zayn from where his head is still rested on the other’s shoulder. “When?”

Zayn coughs. “Around the time I punched a guy in the face for slagging you off for being a dad?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Harry asks, looking up at Zayn at last. “You – told Liam. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Zayn shrugs, dislodging Louis’ head, but Louis just nestles down with his head rested on Zayn’s thigh instead. “I kind of thought you might hate me. You… have a Millie.”

“That was all down to Clare and what she wanted,” Harry says, and shrugs. “I’m not Perrie. I don’t care.” He looks away again and curls his socked toes into the carpeting of their hotel room. Even with the heat cranked up, it’s cold inside. Millie had gone to sleep in her coat. “I do kinda care you thought you couldn’t tell me. I mean, I get why, I guess, but… we’ve just all been through so much, I thought we were like, living in each other’s pockets.”

“Well, it was before America,” Zayn points out. “It was different still back then.”

“And, erm,” Liam says, “I mean – we do live in each other’s pockets or suitcases or whatever, but you… it’s different with you ‘cause you’ve always had your own thing going on separate to us. Some things it – it felt like – like bothering you with dumb kid stuff if we told you about them.”

“I am a dumb kid!” Harry says earnestly. “I never get bothered when you talk to me about stuff, any stuff. I like stuff. Unless it’s bad stuff, and then – I don’t like it, but I still want to hear about it.”

Louis snorts. “And anyway, Liam, you’re gonna have your own stuff now, too. D’you feel like suddenly you don’t want to hear about Niall’s gastronomic fantasies or my issues with finding good shoes?”

He expects Liam to laugh, but instead, Liam’s brown eyes are serious and scared. “I don’t know. I think I’m supposed to not want to hear it. But I just don’t – it’s not real yet that I have other stuff.”

“It won’t be until you see Danielle again,” Harry assures him. “You’ll have a moment when it’ll kick you in the head and you get it, but ‘til then it doesn’t really seem like a big – it doesn’t sink it for a bit yet. When are you going to see her?”

“She’s coming to New York and then LA and that last bit before Mexico,” Liam says. “She’ll be… three months, I guess, then?” Liam bites his lip and looks at Harry. “Will that seem real?”

Harry shrugs. “Maybe. It did for me, but you’re your own person and Danielle’s her own person. Don’t know how things will go for you.” He smiles at Liam. “It’s not like singing where you can just try to match pitch with someone else. I mean even me and Louis don’t do things the same way with Millie. You and Danielle will do things your own way, too.”

Liam’s face flushes again. “But I sort of – I want to do things your way. You, you’re – Millie’s really lovely. And she loves you so much. And I don’t – I don’t want to be the tough-love dad that gets resented.”

Harry and Louis exchange a look and Harry laughs. “I _am_ the tough-love dad around our house,” he explains. “Millie’s tetchy with me half the time. She loves Louis best.”

“She does not,” Louis denies, shaking his head and jiggling Zayn’s thigh. “She loves you because she is you. And Liam… your kid’s gonna love you ridiculously. Just like crazy. And it’ll get your singing and Danielle’s dancing and take over the world at age twelve and be the most obnoxious oversaturated miniature popstar that’s ever lived, and it’ll be great.”

Liam’s eyes light up and he lets Niall pour him a second shot of vodka. “We talked about that. I hope it has her smarts, though. And she’s excited no matter what it will have curly hair.”

“But I thought you stole that from Harry,” Louis, Niall, and Zayn all say flatly in unison, and both Harry and Liam groan and push them over. 

Harry narrows his eyes and surveys Liam, once Louis’ picked himself up off the floor and settled, a little tipsy and warm-skinned from the vodka, into Harry’s lap. “When did you talk about that? Just today?”

Liam smiles shyly. “It’s – well, the timing’s a bit inconvenient, but… it’s not unexpected. We, erm, not like -- _actively_ yet, but – we were sort of… on purpose.”

“Liam Payne,” Louis says, a shade too loudly because he’s had more shots than the rest of the combined, and Harry giggles and gently shushes Louis with a finger pressed to Louis’ lips. Louis licks it and Niall groans disgustedly. Louis waggles his tongue at Niall and then flails over onto his belly so he can stare up at Liam. “Liam Payne, are you getting married? Can I be your best man?”

“I don’t know,” Liam says. “Last year I was going to propose and then Danielle found the ring in my socks and asked me not to because she doesn’t want to deal with the fans badgering her about an engagement when getting married should be for us and not for them. So I don’t know. I don’t know if she even wants to marry me, I guess.”

“Well, if she doesn’t, I’ll be your Louis,” Zayn offers, and drains the last of the vodka bottle. “Then we can be sappy and disgusting and get these two shits back for the last four’n a quarter years.”

Liam makes face. “No offense, Zayn, but I just don’t want to do to you whatever it is that I can hear Louis squealing about through the walls all the time.”

•••

After Moscow, they take an overnight train to St. Petersburg: Harry takes Millie to see the ballet matinee on one of the bright, cold winter afternoons, and Zayn rereads _Anna Karenina_ in the week they’re there, to everyone’s amazement. They’re so far north that there are only eight hours of sunlight in a day, so when Harry and Millie leave the ballet, it’s already dark and the falling snow catches in the beams of street lights. Millie in her red coat hums atonally and twirls around Harry’s fingers, and Harry has to smile down at her, his heart warm.

Millie smiles up at Harry with all of her teeth. “I love you, my Daddy.”

“I love you, my little bean,” Harry answers. He straightens her earmuffs over her soft brown curls. “Do you want to walk or do you want me to carry you?”

Millie tilts her head. “Am I too big for carries?”

“No,” Harry promises. “Not ever.”

Millie beams and lifts her arms. “Carry, please!”

Harry lifts her up and kisses her nose. She kisses him back on the cheek, then settles her face down in his neck because the blustery breeze is biting cold. She tucks her hand into the neck of his coat, her comfort place since she was two months old, and Harry carries her back up the street to the hotel. Back up in their room, Louis is just getting out of the shower, the heat cranked up high, and he shivers when Harry’s cold nose presses mischievously into the back of his neck. He pulls on warm, soft trackies and one of Harry’s huge cable-knit sweaters, and all three of them cuddle up together to watch a movie until their room service dinner arrives.

Millie pokes at her mashed potatoes. “It is weird to eat tea at nighttime.”

“It is weird,” Louis agrees. “But soon we’ll go to America and it’ll be different.”

“When soon?” Millie has chicken all over her cheek. “Liam said Danielle and a baby are coming to New Yorssity.”

“That’s true,” Harry says, and wipes her cheek with his napkin. “But you can’t see the baby yet. It will still be in Danielle’s tummy.”

Millie jerks back in her seat and looks perturbed. “Did she eat it? For why?”

“No, sweetie, that’s – remember, babies get made from little pieces of their mums and dads? The pieces cook in the tummies until they’re… babyfied,” Harry explains. Louis makes a terrible face and rolls his eyes, kicking Harry’s ankle under the table, but Harry shrugs and flicks Louis’ elbow in warning.

Millie narrows her eyes and looks at Louis. “Is that true?”

Louis spears some potato and talks with his mouth full. “More or less.”

Millie considers this for a long time, surveying Harry judgmentally through lowered eyelids as she misses her mouth with mashed potato, before nodding once and declaring, “I will believe you for now.” She picks up a thoughtful handful of chicken in butter sauce and asks, “When _can_ I see the baby? I want to know how littler than me it is.”

“Around Lux’s birthday, the baby will be born,” Harry tells her. “Or a little bit earlier than Lux’s birthday. It’ll be when we’re home in London.”

Millie frowns. “That is much more smaller than me. Do I get to be older than it?”

“Yes,” Louis laughs. “There will finally be another person you’re older than.”

Millie smiles with distracted eyes, then pushes her plate away and whines that she wants a Yorkshire pudding. Harry pets her curls and leads her off to take a bath. 

Louis is scrolling through twitter on the sofa when a little wet-headed fuzzball in fleece pajamas wriggles into his lap. Millie nuzzles his chin, and Louis smiles, shutting down his mobile to give her a cuddle.

“What’s up, bean?”

“Muppie,” Millie implores, her eyes very round, “Do you still love me?”

“Of course I love you, silly bean,” Louis assures her, rubbing her back. “Why would I stop?”

Millie shrugs and nuzzles him again. “Just checking.”

Louis chuckles softly and kisses the top of her wet head. “Of course I love you. You’re my favorite little bean.”

Millie is quiet for a long time, her eyebrows knit and face nestled beneath Louis’ chin as she clings to the front of his shirt. And then finally – 

“I finally will tell you what Mary M. say,” Millie begins, and scoots that much closer in so Louis can wrap her up in his arms and Harry’s big sweater. Across the sitting room, Harry stands to make tea, wrapped in his thickest, softest dressing gown, and he gives Louis a warm, thin smile as he heads off to give them some space.

“You don’t have to, little bean,” Louis promises, running his fingers through her snarled hair. He starts to comb out her curls carefully with his thumb and forefinger. “Nothing she could possibly say matters in real life.”

“Mary M. say – Mary M. say her mum say there is only two reasons you love me,” Millie whispers tremulously. “Because I am a little kid, or because you make my daddy think he is – the bad word. But I do _not_ think you _nor_ my daddy is a bad word, and I get more older every day. I am not as little kid now.” She sighs and lifts her head from Louis’ shoulder so he can braid her hair. 

Louis’ stomach writhes, and he’s glad that both of his hands are busy sorting through locks of Millie’s hair for an intricate French braid or else the hot blood rushing through his veins would clench his fingers into fists. 

“Millie, I love you because you are you,” he says, soft but fierce. “And that’s it. I love you because I am your Mup and you are my little bean, and I will never, never stop loving you. Whether you are four years old or forty years old or four- _hundred_ years old, I will love you. And…” he reaches the end of her hair and, for lack of a rubber band, lets it fall against her back to start frizzling out of the braid moments later. “No matter what happens with me and your dad, you and me are forever. And I think your daddy and I are forever, too, but even if we’re not, then you can’t get rid of me.” He smiles at her encouragingly and kisses her forehead. “You and I are forever, kid.”

Millie smiles, but her huge eyes are still listless and troubled. “But I did not come from your tummy nor am I maked – made – maded of a piece of you.”

Louis tugs on the end of her braid. “That’s the best part of being a mup instead of a mum or dad, innit? I get to love you just because you’re you, not because of any other silly reason.” He tickles her belly and Millie giggles, batting at his hands. 

“Muppie, what did I do the first time you met me?” Millie tickles Louis’ tummy right back, but he just yelps and captures her hands to kiss her fingers.

“You picked my nose,” Louis reports, and Millie crows with laughter. “You did! Right in for the bogeys.”

“Ew!” Millie covers her face. “I do not want your bogeys!”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Louis says seriously. “I’ve been wondering for four years when you’d next attack and just suck ‘em all right out of my nose.”

Millie makes a gagging noise and flails backwards, so Louis tickles her again and Millie wriggles and giggles, her worry forgotten. Harry comes out from the little kitchenette with two mugs of tea and a cup of cocoa, but he leaves them on the table when he comes over to the couch and kisses first Millie’s forehead, then Louis’. 

“Is everyone alright?” he asks, and unravels the rest of Millie’s fallen braid with his fingers.

Millie grins at him with all of her teeth. “Daddy, did I steal Muppie’s bogeys when I was a baby?”

Harry barks a laugh and covers his mouth. His eyes shine as he nods. “You did. You also threw up on Zayn and pooed on Niall, once.”

“Oh, no!” Millie covers her face. “I do not want Danielle’s baby to be gross!”

“You weren’t gross,” Harry assures her. “You were just a baby. But you were beautiful. Really, really beautiful. And you were funny and cute.”

“I am still beautiful and funny and cute,” Millie points out proudly, and Harry laughs through his nose.

“I suppose you are. And I love you even more now than I did when you were a baby,” Harry promises, and Millie climbs from Louis’ lap into Harry’s to give him a hug, hanging tight with her arms around his neck.

“Tell me about when I was a baby,” she requests, then yawns as she nestles down between Harry and Louis. Louis smiles at Harry over her head, and quickly fetches their teas and cocoa, as well as a blanket from the bedroom for them to all snuggle beneath as the snow continues to fall outside. They couldn’t be farther from home, but with Millie cuddled up along his side and Harry’s warm, comforting hand rested over the back of Louis’ neck, Louis doesn’t think that he’s ever felt more like he belonged and was loved and was wanted.

•••

They leave Russia by way of a show in Stockholm, where Harry nostalgically tells Millie she said her first words, and a show in Oslo, where they haven’t been before. They spend the morning of Valentine’s Day en route from Oslo to Amsterdam, much to Harry’s disappointment – he and Louis haven’t had time alone in weeks, Russia too cold and foreboding for Millie to want to be without them. The whole group get lunch together as soon as they land at the hotel – Perrie’s flown in to surprise Zayn, much to Millie’s delight and Zayn’s amusement – and everyone except Millie coos over the ultrasound pictures Danielle’s sent Liam. (Millie can’t understand the fuss over pictures of a shrimp.)

After lunch, Zayn throws Perrie over his shoulder and they escape up to their hotel suite. Harry gives Louis a plaintive, apologetic look while Millie dances around their legs.

Niall wipes his mouth on his napkin and scoots back in his chair to rest his ankle on his knee. “Fellas, I can take Millie out for the day if you want.”

Harry blinks. “Really?”

Last time they were in Amsterdam, Niall had seemed to think Millie was ruining their lives.

“Sure.” Niall grins. “I erm, I might’ve bought two tickets for the ballet to take her out for the matinee. Give you two a bit alone.” He smiles at Millie. “What’d’you say, Mills? Want to be my Valentine date?”

Millie pulls a face. “No!”

“No?” Niall looks genuinely affronted. “Why not?”

“You are my brother,” Millie says, nose wrinkled. “I cannot be your _date_.”

“Oh, I see,” Niall says sagely, nodding. “Well, how about we just go see the ballet and not be dates, then?”

Millie surveys him skeptically, then looks up at Harry. “Does I have a dress for the ballet?”

“In your luggage,” Harry confirms. He pets her hair. “You should go with Niall.” He leans down and whispers conspiratorially, “I bet he’ll buy you waffles and ice cream.”

Millie looks at Niall. “Will you buy me waffles and ice cream?”

“Of _course_ ,” Niall says as though it’s obvious. He holds out his hand. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“I have to change my dress,” Millie says primly – then breaks and runs off towards the elevators, eager for dessert. 

After they’ve bundled Millie into her coat and hat and gloves and she’s trotted off with Niall to see _Coppélia_ , Harry rounds on Louis and pulls him into their bedroom. It’s their second Valentine’s Day together as a couple, but it feels like more – it’s overwhelming to think what a short time they’ve actually known each other and, even less, been together, because it feels like a lifetime. It’s hard for Harry to remember not loving Louis.

They make love twice, once fast and furious bent over the kitchenette counter, and the second time slow and face-to-face on the floor. Louis gets carpet burns all over his back and Harry’s knees are scraped and red, and they laugh at how stupid they are while Harry runs a hot bath in the huge Jacuzzi tub. The hot water stings on their wounds as they slide into the water, but it dulls to a low throb as they kiss low and deep. Louis’ hands work their way between Harry’s legs under the water and he fingers Harry to a third, shuddering, messy orgasm, Harry’s legs open wide and hooked over Louis’ shoulder and the edge of the tub.

Louis leans in and bites Harry’s lower lip as Harry breathes hard, head back and neck exposed, coming down from the high. “You look so fucking good like that.”

Harry just groans, wordless. With shaking fingers, he pets Louis’ hair. “I love you.”

“I know,” Louis says, and his eyes and nose crinkle as he laughs. “You always say that after I finger you. Or lick you out. Or generally do sex-things at you.”

Harry opens his eyes and his cheeks flush, and Louis thinks Harry is beautiful with his pupils blown so wide and somehow a bit shy. He laughs breathlessly and pulls Louis in for a toothy, sucking kiss, his legs slippery as they slide down to wrap around Louis’ waist instead, their skin touching everywhere.

Louis pulls back from the kiss and rests his forehead against Harry’s. “I – erm, I want – if you’re interested, I… want to try fucking you again. Topping, I mean. Not right now, I’m still – yeah, but. Next time we have a day alone. I want to try.”

Harry’s eyes burn even darker and brighter. “ _Yes_. I’ve been waiting for you to – want that again.” He cups Louis’ jaw in one hand, his thumb caressing over Louis’ sharp cheekbone. “I feel bad, like I pressured you into it last time and it wasn’t good for you.”

“You didn’t,” Louis assures him. “I was just too nervous I’d do something you didn’t like it’d be – you’d get scared away. But I want it now. Like, really bad, actually,” Louis laughs. “I like how wrecked you get from sex.”

“I get wrecked from _you_ ,” Harry points out, grinning until his cheeks dimple, and Louis kisses him, smiling too, so their teeth clink.

After the sun has set and the freezing rain is in a lull, they dress each other layer by layer in warm jumpers and pressed black trousers and heavy, finely-tailored wool coats, and they head out to meet Niall and Millie at Café de Jaren for dinner. They hold hands in the cab all the way. Over dinner – steak and Béarnaise for Louis, monkfish for Harry, and spaghetti Polpettine for both Millie and Niall – Millie tells them all about the ballet and about the fantastical castle of ice sculptures Niall had taken her to see. Her favorite had been a massive twenty-foot Chinese dragon with spooky, pearlescent white snow eyes, but it made her miss Bertram again.

“I want to see a zoo in our next city,” she requests sadly, pushing pasta around her plate. “I miss my lizard friends.”

There is no zoo in their next city – Glasgow – but in Belfast, Jay and Anne show up as a surprise to take the whole little family out for an afternoon at the little city zoo. It’s cold, and the whole park closes before dinner time, but that means that the boys can spend their entire morning until it’s time for soundcheck visiting with their mums before leaving to perform. Millie joyfully waves to every reptile they see, greeting them by name – “Hello, Chinese water dragon! Hello, python!” – until they find the surprisingly big veiled chameleons.

Millie presses her forehead to the glass. “Hello, my little chameleons. I love you.”

Her lower lip pokes out and begins to quiver.

That night, after the concert, Harry and Louis sit down with Anne and talk quietly while Jay brushes and braids Millie’s hair, listening to her tales about traveling with the boys. A few hours later, while the band rush about preparing their van to start travel to Hamburg and Berlin, Harry kisses Millie’s forehead and cheeks and nose and tells her that she gets to take a vacation from the tour by visiting Grandma Anne’s house for a few days.

“With Bertram?” she asks, her eyes shining.

“Yes, sweetie,” Harry chuckles, smoothing down her curls. “You get to sleep in your Grannanna House bed and visit Bertram and see Auntie Gemma and Eleanor and Robin. And I bet…” he lowers his voice like he’s sharing a secret, “I bet Grandma Anne will make you a roast dinner with Yorkshire puddings.”

Millie’s hands fly up to grasp at her own face in joy, and Harry laughs, sweeping her into his arms for a good hug. 

It’s still unholy early in the morning when they all need to start on their routes, so Millie still wears her matching travel pajamas with Louis – red with teddy bears – and one of the warm, woolen animal hats that she and Harry have His and Hers to match (this time, goofy pandas). She shuffles off like a bleary-eyed zombie into Anne’s arms after Harry and Louis both kiss her face and promise to see her in New York. Danielle will fly with her so that she won’t be alone.

“Danielle and the baby?” she asks, her interest piquing even as she yawns.

“Yes,” Harry confirms. “Danielle and the baby.”

“Whoopie-doo,” Millie mumbles. She gives Harry a sleepy kiss on the cheek. “Gogo now please so I can sleeps.”

The first concert in Hamburg goes perfectly – the German crowds are consistently among Harry’s favorite – and after the show, the whole band goes out and gets raucously drunk like they almost never can, since they normally tote around a little kid. But tonight they’re free to be twenty-one, rich, and famous, and Harry sucks Louis off in the bathroom of a club.

They have three shows in Hamburg and two in Berlin. Harry and Louis can barely find time to squeeze in a quickie, much less take the time to try something that’s still a little scary and new. 

Before they fly out to New York City, they check in with Danielle that she’s collected Millie from Anne and everything is going well for their own trip a few hours later.

“I have her,” Danielle confirms. “We’ve gone out to breakfast like proper ladies, haven’t we, Pretty?”

Harry hears Millie crow _yes!_ from nearby, and he chuckles. “Good, good. How are you feeling, Dani?”

“I’m really well,” she says. “Your daughter is full of questions, mind, but we’re all well. All four of us here.”

“Four – oh my god, are you having _twins_?” Harry asks, and Louis’ head jerks up from his teacup. “What’s insane! Does Liam know?”

“Of course he knows,” Danielle laughs. “Daffy. I think he’s in a bit of denial. Doesn’t quite feel ready for one kid, let alone a daughter and a son.”

“Oh my god,” Harry repeats. “That’s _crazy_ , but I’m happy for you. Should I be happy for you? I’m happy for you.” He looks up. “Shit, we have to board. Lou and I will wait at JFK for you both.”

“Sure, sure,” Danielle says, then her voice muffles as she asks Millie if she wants to talk to Harry.

“Hi, Daddy!” Millie chirps, and Harry smiles as he shoulders his carry-on bag. “I had eggs for breakfast.”

“I’m not surprised,” Harry says. “You eat eggs almost every day.”

“Not every-every,” Millie points out. “They had cheese and also Danielle made me eat a tomato.”

“Good,” Harry says. “You should eat more vegetables.”

Millie is quiet for a moment. “Daddy. Tomatoes are fruit.”

“Alright, fine,” Harry sighs. Paul gives him a gesture to wrap things up. “Bean, I have to go get on the plane. Muppie says he loves you. We’ll see you in a few hours.”

“I love you two-too!” Millie giggles. “I will see you in New Yorssity!”

Harry smiles. “Bye, babybeans.”

Harry shuts off his mobile and jogs up the walkway onto their plane. He smiles at all of the flight attendants as he eases his way through the narrow corridor into their business class cabin, booked out just for the band and touring personnel. Liam is sat by one window, chatting with Niall as they look at the interactive flight map and selection of free films, but Harry flicks Liam’s ear and exclaims, “ _You didn’t tell us you’re having_ two kids _?_ ”

Liam flinches away from Harry’s hands and looks sheepish. “I – well, I was going to mention it…”

“Boy, Liam, you never do anything by halves, do you?” Niall asks, cackling. “Like to run? Qualify for Olympic trials. Get ill as a kid? Be missing an organ. Try out for X Factor, be in the world’s biggest boy band.”

“Impregnate girlfriend,” Harry adds, eyes twinkling, “Get a son and a daughter from the deal.”

Liam’s eyes go round. “What?”

“What – what?” Harry asks, backtracking. “Did you – she – I didn’t say anything!”

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” Liam groans, “I wanted it to be a surprise!”

“Erm.” Harry shakes out his curls and sweeps them away from his face. “Surprise?” He bites his lip, ashamed, and hugs Liam apologetically. “I’m sorry! She didn’t say not to tell you.”

Liam sighs. “I told you years ago, this is why we never tell you or Louis anything. You’re _terrible_ at keeping secrets.”

Harry covers his face with one hand and slumps dejectedly back to his seat beside Louis. Louis likes aisles and Harry likes windows, and it works perfectly on almost every flight, two cogs clicking together as one function. Harry naps for the first few hours, only waking when Louis kisses his neck, teasing and nibbling and tender, just to tell him that their food’s arrived. After they finish their mediocre airline food, they turn the lights out over their seats and cuddle together to watch _X-Men Origins: Deadpool_. 

Their flight gets in two hours before Millie- and Danielle’s is due, and Louis goes off in a desperate search for Starbucks while Harry porters around their carry-on bags. Zayn and Niall leave for the hotel with the rest of their crew, but Liam putters around in the gift shop looking for flowers before they head to the arrival gate. They each pose patiently for a parade of fan photos – and Zayn texts Harry that there are scores of paparazzi outside the terminal, all vying to get the first photos of Liam with pregnant Danielle.

The first few passengers off of the London flight are businesspeople, all suits and briefcases. And then –

“Daddy!” 

Millie’s short legs come tearing down the ramp as she flies towards Harry, a beaming smile on her face. Harry grins and crouches down to her height, arms out to catch her and she barrels into his arms, hugging him tightly around the neck and peppering kisses all over his cheek. 

Harry hugs her close and rubs her back. “Hi, baby beans,” he whispers. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed _you_!” Millie enthuses, and Harry can tell that she’s crying, clinging to his neck. “That was a long time away.”

“It was,” Harry agrees. He kisses her cheek, then again for good measure. “Did you have fun with Grandma Anne and Robin and Auntie Gemma and Eleanor?”

“And Bertram,” Millie sniffles, agreeing. “And I get a bike with training wheels.”

“Wow!” Harry says, and pets her hair down. “Do you want to hug Muppie?”

Millie wriggles out of Harry’s arms and throws herself at Louis, still blubbering, clinging to his knees. Harry chuckles and pets her hair again as he stands.

Liam and Danielle are standing just off to the side, Liam’s eyes round with amazement as his hand rests on her belly. She’s barely showing, even with twins, but her face looks a little rounder and she – it sounds like a cliché, and Harry doesn’t think it ever quite fit Clare, but – Danielle is glowing, her eyes sparkling and wet as she looks right back at Liam, her hands rubbing soft circuits over his wrists. The bouquet it had taken Liam an hour to pick out lies forgotten on the floor at their feet.

Louis rests his head along the side of Harry’s bicep; Millie is cuddled up in Louis’ arms, chewing on her fingers and resting her head on his neck. “They’re a beautiful family.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, and tangles his fingers with Louis’. “They really are.”

•••

All of their New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut shows are finished within the first four days of their two-week stay in the city. Although time to go _home_ would have been preferable, they’re all grateful for the respite. Niall’s mum and Chris fly out to have a visit with Niall’s aunt, and he’s gone most of the time; Danielle stays with Liam, which occupies his time, and Zayn takes a weekend trip out to Chicago where Little Mix are playing a show. Millie is excited to be back with her dad and mup, and she gets clingy, refusing to leave them alone – she even insists on sleeping in their bed her first night back, wrapped up in blankets like a little mummy between them.

They take her to the Central Park Zoo, the Prospect Park Zoo, the Bronx Zoo, _and_ the Queens Zoo. They go to Serendipity and Dylan’s Candy Bar. They take a ferry to the Statue of Liberty, and wait in line for ages to go to the top of the Empire State Building. 

It’s kind of exhausting to be tourists with a kid, Louis thinks. Even more exhausting than just being travelers with a kid.

In their second week, over a breakfast shared at the hotel with Liam and Danielle, Danielle smiles down at Millie beside her and asks, “Pretty, would you like to see a dance show with me tonight?”

Millie hums thoughtfully, chomping on a blueberry muffin. “Just you and me?”

“Yup,” Danielle confirms. “A girls’ night.”

“And the boy baby,” Millie reminds her. She starts disemboweling the unfortunate muffin, searching for blueberries.

“Well, right,” Danielle agrees. “And the boy baby. But I thought you and I could have dinner together just us and then see the show and you could have a little sleepover in our room tonight so we could watch movies.”

Millie looks around to Harry, her eyes wide. There’s a purple smear on her chin. “Can I do that?”

“Sure, sweetie,” Harry says, smiling. He leans over and kisses her cheek, then wipes off her chin. “That sounds like fun. You’ve seen a lot of ballets lately.”

“This is actually modern dance,” Danielle says. “It’s the Ailey company, I’ve wanted to see them for ages and I think Millie will love it.”

“I will!” Millie agrees, nodding ardently. 

Harry makes Millie take a nap in the afternoon so she doesn’t get too cranky going to an evening show with Danielle, and he asks Danielle to promise that if she gets tired or ill and doesn’t want Millie to spend the night that she’ll call and he’ll pop right down to hall to pick her up.

Louis is out shopping at Topman when Millie leaves, so Harry takes the opportunity for a long, hot shower. He scrubs up every inch until he feels pink and fresh and – just a little bit vulnerable, which is silly because it’s _Louis_ and it’s not really the first time they’re doing this and _it’s Louis_. He towels himself dry and shakes out his hair and puts on a pair of soft gray trackies and a pair of red socks with white toes. He orders a bottle of champagne up to the room because fuck it, Louis loves champagne, and then he curls up to scroll through twitter.

“Hey, babe.” Louis staggers in, laden with bags. His fringe is damp from the intermittent, woolly rain. “I brought dinner, passed a place that looked good.”

“Sick,” Harry says, smiling as he looks up. “Thank you.”

Louis locks the door and crosses the room, dropping bags on the table before he cups Harry’s jaw in his hands and kisses him, sweet and deep. 

Louis smiles and runs his hand down over Harry’s arm. “You look really good.”

Harry smiles and kisses Louis again. “I just want you.”

Louis looks a little bashful, but mostly buoyed. He runs his fingers through Harry’s hair and scratches just behind his ear, making Harry mewl a little, and Louis laughs.

“Let’s eat. And then I’ve got you all night.”

They sit next to each other instead of across at the little table in their hotel sitting room, eating ridiculously expensive hipster sandwiches from the Smile, things that should have been plain and comfortable but instead make their lips tingle hot and numb with harissa and honey and ras-al-hanout. Harry sheepishly gets out the champagne he’d ordered and Louis laughs; they drink cold $100 champagne and eat sandwiches, shirtless, and somehow it makes sense. Harry kisses the soft join of Louis’ shoulder and neck and it feels like the kiss should leave a red mark in its wake as his mouth moves on, spice on his tongue and stuck to his teeth. Instead he just sucks a bruise into the smooth skin, and Louis yelps – it changes to a groan as Harry soothes the welt with a drizzle of gentle kisses.

Harry smirks up at Louis for just a moment before pressing another kiss to the stinging red skin. He sucks the lovebite just a shade darker, so Louis will have to wear it for a week, before kissing his way down Louis’ chest, collarbone to sternum to nipple. He bites carefully at the tip of Louis’ nipple to make him gasp as it hardens, then keeps his fingertips playing at it as he keeps moving his mouth downwards, sliding down from his chair to rest between Louis’ legs.

Harry laughs a little, caught beneath his chair. “Scoot back a bit, Lou. I’m not short enough for this.”

Louis laughs, too, and pushes his chair back from the table – Harry takes the opportunity to catch Louis’ waistband and pull his trackies and pants down with them to free Louis’ cock. 

Harry smiles again and hums, wrapping his fingers around to stroke him to full hardness, gently pulling back the foreskin to kiss over the shiny pink head. Louis exhales through his teeth and runs his fingers through Harry’s hair again, holding it back from Harry’s face so he can watch. It still takes Harry time to ease his way in and he can’t take more than half of Louis’ length into his mouth before it’s too much for his reflexes, but he’s always enthusiastic and willing and he _really_ likes for Louis to finish in his mouth or onto his face and neck, even if it’s just a handjob or a quick mutual wank.

They’d discovered that preference on accident, but it had been a very, very happy accident, if a little embarrassing at first.

Harry licks his lips and fits his mouth around the head of Louis’ cock, musky boy-smell and bitter precome overwhelming as he holds his face in Louis’ lap. He always sucks messy so he can keep his hand wet as he works over what he can’t get into his mouth, and it makes an obscene slapping sound as he strokes over the skin, twisting as he meets his mouth and working down again. Louis’ abs jump as he breathes harder, fingernails scratching just beneath Harry’s ears to make him groan around Louis’ prick. Harry flicks his tongue over the slit and Louis’ cock twitches, sending a splash of precome smearing over Harry’s lips.

Louis tugs at Harry’s hair. “Stop, H – I want – stop, I want to fuck you, I don’t want to come yet.”

Harry pulls back, taking a moment to nuzzle at the base of Louis’ dick. “Are you sure? Take the edge off?”

“No,” Louis murmurs. He slides his thumb over Harry’s lip, rubbing in the messy smears. “Takes too long to get hard again. I’m old,” he chuckles ruefully. “We can’t all be nubile young Harry Styles.”

Harry smiles with dimples and kisses Louis’ belly. “Bed?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and stands. His cock bobs obscenely in front of him, his trousers and pants still hanging around his thighs. Harry laughs and gives Louis’ cock a teasing jerk as he walks past, towards the bedroom, stepping out of his own trackies on the way. Louis starts laughing at how ridiculous Harry looks fully nude except for red tube socks, so they’re both grinning and shiny-eyed by the time they’re falling naked into the huge king bed.

Louis spends a long time kissing and biting Harry’s nipples, making Harry writhe against the mattress with hypersensitivity. By the time he’s worked his own way down to Harry’s sharp hips to scrape his teeth across the winged bones teasingly, Harry’s cock is huge and heavy and dark, leaving wet lines on his flat stomach.

“D’ _you_ want me to take the edge off first?” Louis asks, letting his breath puff over Harry’s dick. It jerks on its own at the warmth, and Harry bites his lip, blushing a little as he nods.

“Sorry… I’m just – I’m really excited about getting fucked,” Harry mumbles, biting his lip. “I mean, I like – I love doing you, but… just, I’m really happy you want it.”

Louis’ face softens and he pulls himself up to kiss Harry’s mouth sweetly. “I like that. Just relax.” He sits back on his heels and runs his hands down over Harry’s sides. “Open up your legs for me, babe.”

The tip of Harry’s tongue pokes into the corner of his lip as he watches Louis from beneath heavy-lidded eyes, opening his thighs so Louis can get between them. Louis offers Harry his hand and Harry licks his palm before Louis wraps it around Harry’s cock, working him in long, slow pulls. Harry groans again and covers his eyes with one forearm, letting himself get lost in Louis’ touch, and Louis takes advantage of Harry’s blindness to position himself down between Harry’s legs and hook them over his shoulders so he can get at Harry’s arse with his tongue.

Harry hisses. “Oh, _fuck yes_ , Louis -- _god_.”

Normally, Louis sticks to kitten licks and long laves when he rims Harry, but normally, he’s not prepping Harry for sex. He pushes in deeper and wetter than Harry’s used to as his hand keeps moving in slow strokes over Harry’s hard cock, and it doesn’t take long before Harry starts babbling pleading nonsense and, finally, comes, hard enough to jerk his hips up into Louis’ face and splash come onto his own neck.

Louis kisses Harry’s hips and thighs soothingly while he comes down, and asks _are you okay to keep going?_ before he reaches into the bedside table where they’ve stashed their lube and condoms. 

He kisses Harry’s neck and forehead and the corner of his mouth while he eases in one finger, then a second. Harry starts getting hard again against Louis’ hip and is humming soft, rumbling moans in the back of his throat by the time Louis’ rolling on a condom and slicking up his own hard cock.

He kisses Harry gently. “D’you feel ready?”

“Yeah,” Harry whispers, and his hands drift to wrap around Louis’ waist. “Yeah, I feel good.”

Louis crooks Harry’s knees over his elbows to hold them up and back as he starts to push in, and he kisses Harry’s calf. He’s never understood how or why Harry is so flexible, but it definitely has its advantages, he supposes. 

The last time they tried this, Louis had sort of hated it. He’d been sure that Harry was bored with him, bored with Louis’ boy body and sex and a long-term, domestic, comfortable, commonplace relationship, and he’d been terrified the whole time that Harry would suddenly decide that everything was… well, a little too _gay_ and that he really _wasn’t_ and he would leave. 

But this time… Louis can’t quite get over the look in Harry’s eyes staring up at him, wide and bright and dark and just full of adoration, and Harry’s _so_ hard, bucking his hips so he can rub his cock off on Louis’ stomach, and he trust Louis enough to let him be _inside him_ , and it’s kind of the best thing Louis’ ever felt.

Once he’s fully inside, his hips flush with Harry’s arse, he leans down and kisses Harry again, foreheads rested against each other’s. He breathes, feeling Harry’s lips ghosting over his lips and cheek and jaw, and whispers, _I love you._

Harry’s eyes sparkle and he pushes Louis’ damp hair back with trembling fingers. “You already know I love you.”

Louis starts off slow, fucking into Harry in long, rolling thrusts that feel like his whole body is pushing into the tight heat of Harry’s body instead of just his cock – but when Harry is moaning and babbling and begging again, his fingers twisted into the sheets and pillowcases, Louis braces one knee on the mattress and slips an arm under Harry’s waist to pull him closer so he can circle in, hitting deep. He lets one of Harry’s legs fall from his arm so Harry can stretch it out, toes against the footboard leverage to push back up into Louis’ thrusts. 

Louis bends forward so Harry’s other leg can hook over Louis’ shoulder. Harry gives a surprised _ooh!_ and Louis pants, _you alright?_

“Just stretchy,” Harry assures him breathlessly. “Feel like a pretzel.”

Louis laughs and gives Harry a quick kiss. He changes the angle a little with the knee keeping him from sliding across the mattress – and Harry sucks in through his teeth, hard, and clenches his fingers into Louis’ waist.

“Yeah?” Louis asks, whispering against Harry’s ear. “Is that it? D’you get it now?”

Harry just whimpers and wriggles his hand between their bellies so he can get ahold of his cock, running his thumb over the head as Louis’ thrusts lose rhythm at the sight of Harry’s face and the slick sound of Harry’s hand over his cock distract Louis. 

“Come on, c’mon,” Harry murmurs, desperate and hot. “Come on, Lou.”

Louis closes his eyes and drops his head, lips brushing over Harry’s forehead, and he feels the warm blurt of Harry’s come splashing onto his chest and stomach and it’s like vindication, somehow, from the last time when he just couldn’t make it happen. Louis gives a short, strangled cry as he comes, too, pushed deep into Harry, and then he collapses. Harry’s leg slides sleepily down from Louis’ shoulder, and Harry makes an odd little noise of his own.

“What?” Louis asks, panting. He looks up at Harry from beneath his fringe. “Did the condom break? ‘Cause that does feel weird.”

“No,” Harry assures him. He rolls his ankle and flexes his toes. “Foot’s asleep from being over my head so long. Feels all pins and needles-y.”

Louis giggles and kisses Harry’s shoulder.

•••

On their last day in New York City, Millie is set to film her first American market commercial for Innocent Juice. She has actual lines to memorize now, and is meant to do a voiceover while the film shows her dancing little-kid ballet in a big red tutu. But she’s shy because of the director’s big, brash New York accent, and she’s cranky from spending the night on the pull-out trundle bed of Liam- and Danielle’s room.

She clings to Harry’s legs so much that to get any footage at all before wrap time, they change the script: Millie will dance _with_ Louis and Harry, she’ll sit in their laps and tell them a story, they’ll mime out the Itsy Bitsy Spider. But the important thing is that Millie won’t have to be alone.

She cheers up considerably, and when it comes time to record her voiceover, she’s much more confident, even waving a dismissive hand at the PA as he explains the microphone.

“I seen this a bajillion times,” she says. “My dad and mup always sing in these.”

She reads her lines from a newly printed script almost the same as the last – but instead of mentioning “kids,” the new commercial cut is all about _family_. 

(There will be hundreds of boycott letters when it airs, and editorials about whether it’s a harbinger of great social change or a quick cash-out. Simon Cowell will give a blustering quote about what an important symbol Harry and Louis have become and how proud he is to have mentored them for the last four years, when in actuality they haven’t actually _seen_ each other since X Factor – and barely spoken except in times of publicity crisis. But there will be letters of support, too, and Louis secretly prints out and saves one in his wallet that just says, _your family is beautiful_.) 

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	28. Chapter 28

Louis glances out the hotel’s huge picture window as he helps himself to more sausages from the breakfast bar in the continental lounge. The doors have been barricaded so their tour group can have the room to themselves without being barraged by fans, but he can see the crowds and cameras queued up outside the window. He gives them a half-hearted wave.

When Louis returns to the table, Liam and Danielle are still up at the omelet station, and Harry is busy scrolling through his mobile. As a result, Millie is kneeling on _his_ chair, clinging onto the side of the table, and lapping at his mug of strong Yorkshire tea like she’s a cat with the cream. 

“Millie!” Louis cries, laughing. “What are you doing?”

Her hair is flyaway curls everywhere and haphazard blue bows perched over her ears, and she doesn’t look the least bit sheepish as she stares up at Louis with her huge green eyes, tongue lopping away at the tea. “Yoursheer tea is good,” Millie informs him. “But mugs are heavy.”

“You little sneak,” Louis laughs. “Get down from there and drink your milk.”

Millie pouts and fusses with her hairbows. “I do not want milk. I want tea. I am big and can have _Yoursheer_ tea. Right, Daddy?”

“No,” Harry says automatically, still tapping away at his phone. “Drink your milk.”

Millie grumbles and scoots into her own chair. She picks up her milk glass with both hands and a vengeance. “I am a big girl, and big people does not drink milk.”

“I have milk, Pretty,” Danielle argues gently, slowly settling into the chair beside Millie’s. Liam follows her, balancing two plates on one arm, two glasses of milk in his other hand, and the case of his proprietary silverware clenched in his teeth. “Big people drink milk, too.”

She gives Millie a smile as she eases her chair back a bit from the table. Liam kisses the top of Danielle’s head as he sets her plate down in front of her, and Millie giggles adoringly, staring over at them like they’re characters in a romantic movie. Danielle tilts her head to kiss Liam’s lips before he sits down, then runs one hand over her belly just to feel that it’s there. She’s never going to be _huge_ since her abs are so strong, but her belly grows every day.

Millie stares at her as Danielle butters a slice of toast. “Danielle,” she says plaintively, “I think your babies is too big for your tummy and you should let them out. They are making you all stretched funny.”

Harry leans down to chide in Millie’s ear that she’s being impolite, but Danielle just laughs.

“Well, they’re not ready yet. If they come out before they’re big enough, they could get hurt or be sick.”

Millie’s eyes go very round and she’s quiet as she eats her scrambled egg and orange juice, still staring at Danielle with unnerving intensity. Harry and Louis exchange a look over her head and their fingers meet as they both move to smooth down Millie’s hair comfortingly. She desperately needs a haircut the next time Lou Teasdale flies out, but that won’t be for another two months when they hit Nashville; Louis has been attempting to teach Harry to braid Millie’s hair, but it’s like his fingers are too long or her hair is too fine and it just never holds.

Louis kisses the side of Millie’s head. “Are you alright, little bean?”

“Mmm.” Millie nods and spares him a short smile before she discards the crust from her toast. “Where are we going today?”

“California.” Harry snatches her crusts and eats them. “It will be warmer outside, finally.”

“Whoopie-doo!” Millie cries. “I want to wear my squishy shoes!”

Harry shrugs. “Alright. I don’t know where they are, though.”

“I do,” Millie says. “I putted them in the bath this morning.”

Louis blinks. “Why?”

“The shoes suitcase is smelly,” Millie explains. “I putted all the shoes in the bath.”

Harry blinks. “ _All_ the shoes?”

Millie nods. “With soap and Muppie’s perfume and Daddy’s armpit stick and the socks and my underpants. I did the laundry!”

Harry covers his face with with his arms and groans _oh, god, Caro is going to kill us, that’s like two thousand pounds of shoes_ and Louis stands quickly, reaching out to collect Millie’s hand.

“C’mon, bean,” Louis requests. “Let’s go start blow-drying shoes. That was not a good idea, sweetie.”

Millie frowns. “I did the laundry by myself.”

“I know, and that was very sweet,” Louis says, giving her cheek a little rub with his thumb, “But shoes don’t go in the laundry. That’s why they get so smelly.”

“They get smelly because you does not wear socks,” Millie accuses. “Daddy said so at _home_. I want to go _home_.”

“I know, littlest traveling bean, and I’m sorry, we’ve still got a while to go,” Louis apologizes. “But before we can go anywhere, we need to dry out those shoes. Let’s go. Chup-chup!”

Millie wriggles her hand free of his grasp and trots over to Danielle. She leans down and rests both hands and her cheek against Danielle’s baby bump.

“You stay here until you are big,” Millie murmurs, patting Danielle’s stomach. “Be very careful.” Then she jumps, her eyes wide, and she jostles the table in shock. “Oh no! Did I did wrong?”

Danielle’s eyes are wet and she covers her broad smile with both hands for a moment before she smooths down Millie’s hair with one hand and slides the other over her belly. “No, Pretty, not at all. The babies are dancing, that’s all. Did you feel them move?”

Millie looks highly perturbed and tucks her hands under her chin, keeping them out of the way. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” Danielle assures her, “But it’s never happened before. They must really like you.”

Millie bites her lip and nods. “That is good.” 

She shimmies around awkwardly, not sure what to do with Danielle crying and smiling at the same time and Harry still muttering about ruined shoes and Louis’ face impatient and Liam kissing Danielle’s cheek as he rests his own hand on her tummy. Millie decides to cut and run, skidding over to Zayn’s breakfast table with Paul and Preston and Niall so she can clamber up into his lap and bury her face in his shoulder.

“Hey, Acchi, what’s up?” Zayn asks, laughing through his nose and rubbing her back. 

“I do not know,” Millie mutters. “I just want to go home.”

Zayn kisses her forehead. “We all want to go home. But it’ll be nice in California, right? I saw on the internet this morning there’s a chocolate festival in our first city the days we’re there. We can go if you’d like. Yeah?”

Millie shrugs listlessly. “I want to go to Disneyland.”

“Okay,” Zayn agrees. “We can do that.”

Louis appears beside them and rests his hand over Millie’s head. “Zayn, I need to steal this little bean. We’ve some shoes to salvage before we pack up.”

Zayn looks down at Millie with one eyebrow raised.

“I did the laundry!” Millie insists. “I am helpful!”

Louis just sighs and pats her head. “Come on, bean. Time to be helpful by drying them off.”

Millie sighs and climbs down from Zayn’s lap. Louis holds out his hand, but Millie refuses it, instead tucking her hands into her pockets as she falls into step beside him. They manage to save most of Louis’ TOMS, a few pairs of Millie’s plastic gelly sandals – her “squishy shoes” – and one pair of Harry’s slippers, as well as all of Millie’s underpants and the pairs of socks, but there are dozens of ruined dress shoes, running shoes, and trainers leaching dye into the cold water. She’d poured out an entire bottle of Gucci Guilty into the water and it smells so strong that Louis keeps coughing as he fishes soggy shoes out of the water for Millie to blow dry over a towel on the floor. Harry’s deodorant, still capped, is bobbing along the top of the water like a sad little cork.

Millie sniffles.

“Does it smell too much in here?” Louis asks, leaning over the edge of the tub to pluck out a £60 Nike Blazer.

“No,” Millie whimpers. The blow dryer whooshes. “You are mad at me. I make a mistake. I am sorrisorry.”

“I’m not mad at you, bean,” Louis says, and flicks water off his hands so he can sit back on his heels and smile at her. “I’m a little frustrated, but I’m not angry. I promise.” He blows her a kiss, and pulls a face when acrid cologne gets on his lips. “Bean, why did you want to do laundry?”

Millie sets the blow dryer down on the floor and rests her chin on her arms and her elbows on her knees. “I want to be _home_. When Daddy does’d – did – did the laundry it is warm and smell good. I like it.”

“Oh, sweetie, come here,” Louis murmurs, patting his lap. Millie scampers over and cuddles up. “I know you’re homesick. Can I tell you a secret? I’m homesick, too. I miss your daddy cooking dinner, and I miss my bed, and I miss our couch with that stain on the pillow from when you made Niall laugh and Coke came out his nose, remember that?” He tickles Millie’s belly and she giggles. “But d’you know what makes me feel less homesick?”

“Making Niall shoot things from his nose?” Millie asks, her eyes sparkling. 

“ _No_. Well, yes,” Louis laughs, tapping Millie’s nose with the tip of his finger. “But no. I get less homesick when I remember I’ve you and your dad with me. So next time you get homesick, you find us and we’ll do something together, okay?”

Millie nods and wraps her arms around Louis’ neck. “I am sorry about the shoes still.”

“Good,” Louis says. “Your apology is accepted. Now, get to drying those trainers!”

•••

On one of their off-days in Los Angeles, sandwiched between an evening show and a day of two concerts, the evening and an added surprise matinee, Zayn keeps his promise and brings Millie to Disneyland. They had to get special clearance to visit the park since Zayn is something of an attraction unto himself (and not one affiliated with Disney, natch), but it ends up giving them the perks of an ultimate line-jumping Fast Pass and some special privileges in the shops and restaurants.

Millie buys buys mouse ears with “Bee” embroidered on them in gold, and the stablekeeper at Main Street U.S.A. lets them inside the barn even though visiting hours are normally in the evening. Millie, it transpires, is fairly terrified of horses, and she hides behind Zayn’s legs, peeking out around his knee with her fingers stuffed in her mouth.

Zayn chuckles and pats her head over the ears. “Acchi, you love Komodo dragons and monitor lizards. Why’re you scared of the nice horse? It doesn’t have poison spit.”

“He have big teeth,” Millie whimpers. “And he makes noises.”

“That’s true,” Zayn admits. “He does make noises. But he’s nice, see?” Zayn – sort of afraid of the horse himself, if he’s honest – reaches out and strokes the huge chestnut’s withers. It whinnies and stamps one foot, and Millie recoils behind Zayn’s leg again. 

“It’s OK,” Zayn promises her. “Look, I’ll pick you up and we can pet it together, okay?”

So he does. By the time the cast members inform them that they need to take the chestnut from its pen to warm it up for the horse-drawn streetcar, Millie has fallen completely in love and is _begging_ Zayn to buy her a horse for her birthday.

“I’m not getting you a horse,” Zayn says flatly, bumping her on his hip as they leave the barn. “You’ve nowhere to put it and we live in a city.”

“In my garden!” Millie explains, and grasps onto Zayn’s cheeks with hands that smell deeply of horse hair. “We are moving into a house. My daddy said so.”

“Really?” Zayn asks, because neither Harry nor Louis had told him. Liam and Danielle were moving out, too, because Liam’s one-bedroom flat obviously didn’t have the space for both of them _and_ twin babies, but Harry, Louis, and Millie have always inhabited the space at the top of their building. 

Looking around Disneyland at faded posters of A.N.T. Farm and Dog with a Blog, Zayn is struck again – as he has been frequently lately, with Liam and Danielle joined at the hip and Little Mix’s concert venues being downgraded to club size – with how… fickle their lifestyle is. One Direction have been together nearly five years, and he can’t think of many boy bands who had been able to maintain their status for much longer than six or seven. Take That, of course. Backstreet Boys, but they had to make do without a member for so long.

Zayn can’t really imagine what One Direction would be without any of the lads. He doesn’t really know what _he_ would be without them. When he tries to imagine his life now, in April of 2015, if he hadn’t auditioned for X Factor… he literally can’t do it. 

Harry, Louis, and Liam all moving out of their complex to have genuine family homes – he’s happy for his friends, but it still feels a little bit like the beginning of the end niggling into the back of his mind.

“Zayn!” Millie cries impatiently, patting his face and flailing a little in his arms to get his attention. “I can keep a horse in my lawn! Like at Grannanna’s house, there is the field with the horses and the cows and stuff.”

That damned cow.

Zayn has to laugh and haul Millie back up to kiss her nose. “I’m not buying you a horse.”

They spend the rest of the morning in Frontierland, playing in the Big Thunder Ranch and Pirate’s Lair on Tom Sawyer Island. Davy Jones’ disembodied whisper spooks Millie as she pokes around the “wreckage” in the pirate caves, so Zayn shushes her gently and straightens her mouse ears and they leave the dark of the caves to go play in Adventureland instead. Millie makes everyone laugh over and over on the Jungle Cruise as she interrupts their befuddled “tour guide” with corrections about animal facts and offers of her own.

“Did you know that piranhas can eat a stapler?” she asks loudly, pointing down into the water. “Or they can bite them. But they can’t digest it in their stomach. So they explode.”

“Shh, Acchi,” Zayn whispers, pulling her back away from the edge of the boat. “Let the nice girl explain the animals to everyone.”

“But I am helping!” Millie exclaims, throwing her arms in the air. 

“I know you are,” Zayn says patiently as everyone titters. “But let’s let her do her job, okay?”

Millie wrinkles her nose, but sits back and doesn’t give any more indications that she has information to add than to bounce her legs and make little whimpering noises whenever she thinks the guide hasn’t done a thorough enough job explaining the animatronic animals they’re passing.

After they get off the ride, Zayn – having learned his lesson years ago – asks Millie if she needs to use the restroom, and she thinks about it a moment before hopping from foot to foot and declaring _yes, please!_

“Now, I can’t go in with you,” Zayn warns her just outside the door. “Are you okay by yourself?”

Millie rolls her eyes. “Yes. I am very big now. I am almost five years old.”

“In more than six months still,” Zayn snorts. “But okay. I’ll just wait for you right here, okay? So come out this door.”

“I will, I will!” Millie assures him, patting his knee, and disappears.

Zayn can feel curious eyes on him as he waits outside the restrooms. He signs a few autographs and smiles for a few photos; he texts Harry to let him know things are going well. After ten minutes, when Millie hasn’t returned, Zayn flags down a middle-school aged girl passing by him with round, heartstruck eyes.

“Hi,” he says. “Erm, bit awkward, but – can you just stick your head in the girls’ room and ask, ‘Millie, are you alright?’ and tell me what she says?”

“Yeah,” the girl says breathlessly. “Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

She comes back a minute later and holds the door open for Millie. 

“I did something green,” Millie reports – loudly, as she skips out of the bathroom and back up to Zayn, curls bouncing.

Zayn glances over his shoulders at the crowd of people stifling their laughter. He’s had a lot of embarrassing things happen to him since joining One Direction – dance-offs with Alan Carr, Harry and Louis discussing their sex habits with Sugarscape, Liam pushing him to the floor in a twitcam chief among them, punching a paparazzo in the face notwithstanding – but Millie’s utter unabashedness might actually _kill him with mortification_. “Okay.”

“Is green poo?”

Zayn closes his eyes. He will actually buy her a goddamn horse if she stops talking so loudly in front of all of these people _who recognize them and are probably tweeting Harry and newspapers right now_. “Probably.”

“I probably pooed,” Millie informs him, still talking at the top of her voice, nodding unabashedly.

“Great,” Zayn says. “Did you wash your hands?”

“I didn’t know you hadta for green,” Millie says. “Hold on, I will be back.”

Millie beams at Zayn and flounces around in a circle to shoulder her way back into the bathroom; he quickly looks around before sorting out her skirt where she’s tucked it into the back of her underwear. She comes back moments later, shaking water off her hands.

“D’you feel alright?” Zayn asks. “I got worried.”

“I am sorry,” Millie says, and shrugs. “There was posters on the walls and I readed them.” Then she pauses and tilts her head. “Does green mean I am ill?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn says, blustery. “Do you feel ill?”

“No,” Millie says earnestly. “I feel hungry.”

“Okay, well, then let’s find some food,” Zayn says. He holds out his hand, then pauses and retracts it. “Dry your hands better.”

Millie sighs heavily and wipes the remaining water off on his trousers. 

Zayn gives her a flat look, but his eyes are warm. “Thanks.”

Millie smiles angelically. “You are very welcome. Now hold my hand, please.”

Zayn smiles at her and complies, and they head off to find something to eat at the Bengal Barbecue nearby. Zayn makes Millie eat the entire vegetable skewer, except for the red bell pepper which she staunchy refuses, and then they run off to play in the Treehouse.

At the end of the night, after they’ve stayed for the fireworks show that makes Millie cry a little because it’s so loud and she’s so tired and overdone, Zayn carries her out to the monorail that will bring them to their hotel. He lets her sit cuddled up in his lap on the rushing ride back to their home away from home, and carries her right up to the moment he can deposit her into Harry’s arms.

“Hi, sweetie,” Harry murmurs, and he kisses her head right where the mouse ears are slipping off. “Did you have fun today?”

Millie makes a small noise of assent and nods, burying her face in Harry’s shoulder. “Zayn’s gon’ buy me a horse. For our garden.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Zayn shakes his head furiously _no_ as Millie hums, “Mmm-hmm.”

Harry laughs softly and rubs Millie’s back in gentle circles. “Well, we’ll have to see about that, won’t we. Say thank you to Zayn for taking you out today.”

“Thankyouzang,” Millie mumbles, mostly asleep. She holds out her hand limply and works her fingers until Zayn touches her fingers with his and she squeezes his thumb. “Luvviyou.”

Zayn smiles and squeezes Millie’s little hand right back. “I love you, too, little acchi.”

•••

Zayn and Millie both develop horrible headcolds overnight after Disneyland. Millie is cranky and red-nosed and miserable all day during the boys’ double bill, and she spends most of the day napping under a pile of blankets on the greenroom couch. Zayn wheezes his way through both shows like a real trooper, and Harry has Preston run out to the grocery store and buy ingredients for chicken soup, which Harry cobbles together in the hotel suite’ kitchenette for both of the sickies.

“Thanks, Haz,” Zayn croaks, his voice much deeper and rougher than usual. “’Preciate it.”

“I don’t _want_ soup,” Millie whines. She’s wearing her onesie pajamas with little rainbow-colored chameleons. “I don’t _feel_ well.”

“I know, little bean; that’s why I made you soup,” Harry says gently. He strokes back her long hair. “It will help you feel better.”

“I want shrimp scaloppini,” Millie grumps, resting one cheek heavily on her hand so that it pouches out. Her eyebrows are lowered fierce and knit in her brow.

Harry can’t help barking a laugh. “Shrimp scaloppini? Where did you even _get_ that?”

“I know it,” Millie grouses. She switches the laze of her cheek. “Daddy, I want to go home.”

“Five weeks, little bean.” 

Millie gives a genuine, hearty whimper and Harry keeps stroking her hair.

“It really isn’t that long. We can make a calendar on some paper and every day you can draw in one of the squares,” Harry offers. “I bet Muppie and Zayn will help you on the bus tonight.”

Millie yowls miserably and kicks her feet, brewing up a tantrum.

“ _Hey_ ,” Harry says harshly, “ _Stop_. I know you don’t feel well, but neither does Zayn and he’s acting better than you. You always say you’re a big girl, so act like one.”

Millie considers this for a long time, still whimpering, before she finally pulls her soup bowl closer and digs in a spoonful. “This tastes like at home,” she eventually declares.

“I know,” Harry says gently. He kisses her clammy forehead. “That’s why I made it special just for you.”

“And Zayn.”

“And Zayn,” Harry amends. “If you’re all finished with the whole bowl, you can have some medicine to help your nose stop being so runny. Did you finish the whole bowl?”

“Except the carrots,” Millie offers, tipping the bowl to show him. “I am not a girl who likes carrots.”

Harry and Zayn exchange a mischievous, sparkling look over her head and Harry stifles a laugh. “Okay, sweetie. You don’t need to eat the carrots.”

They bus into Las Vegas by nightfall, and when Millie wakes in a cold medicine stupor and sees the Paris Hotel & Casino’s Eiffel Tower, she’s disoriented enough that she starts to cry. Louis shushes her, quietly singing a silly song about cheese and the moon, and rocks her back to sleep in his arms before carrying her into the hotel. Zayn doesn’t seem to be faring much better; he leans heavily on Niall as they make their slow way inside.

“Are you alright, Z?” Harry asks, resting a hand worriedly on Zayn’s back.

Zayn nods and coughs. “’M alright. Just kid germs from Disney. Damn Disney.”

They have about five days scheduled in Vegas before they leave for Mexico City and Danielle returns, alone, to the UK. There are two shows, alternating nights. Millie feels well again by their second full day in the desert city, but Zayn remains under the weather: the head cold seems to be on its way to becoming a chest cold, and Paul brings in a physician to shoot Zayn up with Vitamin B. He’s still able to perform, although he does take advantage of the on-stage sofa a little more than usual. 

Harry doesn’t want to say anything, even to Louis, but he’s worried. It’s what he does: he’s a worrier, and since Zayn and Millie ostensibly had the same strain of cold but Millie got well so quickly, something just seems… off to him.

But he doesn’t say anything, and he smiles at Zayn and offers to make him more soup.

On their last morning in Las Vegas before Danielle flies back to the UK, they manage to wake up both Zayn and Niall with enough time to eat breakfast together as a big group. They go out to the Grand Lux Café at the Venetian (mainly so Millie can take a photo beaming with the signage outside and send it to Lux and Lou Teasdale on Twitter) and such an enormous barrage of people surges the hotel/casino that they have to put up velvet barriers.

Louis shakes his head and begins to cut up Millie’s banana-pecan pancakes. “Crazy day already and it’s barely half-nine.”

Liam exchanges a mischievous little look with Danielle, then says, “Yeah, crazy day.”

Narrowing his eyes, Harry sets down his fork. “Oh my god. You got married last night, didn’t you?”

Liam blushes bright purple. “We might’ve. Got married. By Captain Jack Sparrow.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Harry laughs, and all of the boys jump up to hug them both. Louis yells, _I knew you’d be the first to get married, right from the moment I met you!_ and Zayn pulls back before he can hug Danielle, apologizing and congratulating her and coughing wetly. Niall looks a bit shellshocked.

“Wait!” Millie cries. She scoots off her chair and wriggles through the knot of One Direction to tug on Danielle’s sleeve. “What is happening?”

Danielle kisses the side of Millie’s head. “Liam and I got married last night.”

Millie frowns, her eyes wide. “No, you didn’t. I was not there. I did not get a dress. So you are not really married.”

Danielle tuts and brushes back Millie’s curls. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Maybe we’ll have another big wedding later that you can get a dress for, when we’re home in London. But we thought the babies should get born when their mum and dad were married, so we had a very little wedding. It was silly, with pirates. You would have liked it.”

“Then why did you not call me?” Millie asks, exasperated, her arms thrown out wide. “I can put a dress on really fast!”

Danielle laughs. “It was two o’clock in the morning, Pretty. I bet you were asleep.”

“That is okay! I like to get married,” Millie says earnestly, petting Danielle’s hair. “Did you wear a fancy hat? Did the babies get to go?”

“No, I did not have a fancy hat or a veil,” Danielle laughs, and gives Millie a little hug. “And of course the babies came to the wedding, I can’t well leave my tummy behind in the hotel, can I?”

Millie makes a terrible face. “You could throw them up and eat them again like a dog.”

Danielle pulls a terrible face right back. “ _No_.” She tickles Millie’s tummy. “Do you want to see my wedding ring?”

“I do!” Louis cheers; his ears color when Harry looks over at him fondly and squeezes his knee under the tabletop. 

“It’s just – I’ve been carrying it for ages,” Liam says sheepishly. “It’s really an engagement ring.”

“It’s _really_ a wedding ring,” Danielle argues gently, holding her hand up so Millie can examine her fingers. “Since we got married with it.”

Liam can’t contain his smile when she says ‘we got married,’ and he leans over to kiss her cheek gently, high up and tender near the corner of her eye. “You’re right. It’s a wedding ring.”

Millie _oooh_ s as she plays with the enormous diamond band on Danielle’s finger. “I want one!”

“Well, maybe when you’re _much_ bigger, if you still want one, then you can get one,” Harry says, kissing the back of Millie’s head and lifting her onto his lap so Danielle can show the ring around to everyone else.

Millie cranes her neck and looks up at Harry. “Do you have one?”

“No,” Harry says. “I don’t.”

“Did my mum have one?” Millie asks curiously. “When I got born?”

Harry smiles a little sadly and plucks one of Millie’s curls out of her eyes. “No, little bean. Your mum and I never got married.”

“Oh. Are you and Mup married?” 

“No, sweetie,” Louis says gently from beside them as he relinquishes Danielle’s hand. He takes a particularly large sip of his mimosa. 

“You should get married,” Millie says in a matter-of-fact, decisive voice. “So I could get a dress. And a cake.”

“Maybe,” Harry hedges, switching out his plate for hers so she can finish her pancakes.

“I don’t think so.” Louis’ voice is gentle but firm and his eyes flick between both Harry and Millie. “Not everybody wants to get married, sweetie. And that’s okay. You can wear dresses whenever you want, and we’ll have cake for your birthdays, right?”

Millie thinks about this and pensively chews her pancake. “Okay,” she shrugs. “But can I get married if I want to still?”

“Of course,” Louis says. “When you’re older. It’s not for kids.”

“Oh,” Millie says. “Okay. Can I have more juice?”

“Sure,” Harry says, and kisses the back of her head. “In fact, let’s all get more drink and toast to Liam and Danielle. They deserve it.”

They all fill their glasses and raise them. 

“To Liam and Danielle,” Harry starts, “Erm… for being awesome people who make each other happy.”

“And that makes the rest of us happy,” Zayn adds. “Because Sad Liam is nagging Liam, so thanks for getting rid of him, Dani.”

They all laugh at that, even Liam.

“Erm, and also to the babies,” Millie adds, bouncing a little. “For making them get married.”

They all laugh a little harder as Liam blushes, and Harry tucks his head down to whisper _shh_ in Millie’s ear. She looks befuddled, but just switches her glass to the other hand since her arm is getting tired holding it up.

“But really, we’ve to toast to everything you’ve got going right now,” Louis says. He pets Millie’s hair fondly as she sighs, kicking her feet and waiting to drink her juice. “I mean, you’re really a beautiful couple, you know I love you both dearly, and I think it’s really great you’ve got kids on the way and you’ve got a house coming and your careers are like fantastic and I think for you guys, marriage is just exactly right. So I’m really happy for you both. Niall, you should – what’s the one you said when Millie was born? That toast in Irish?”

“Gaelic,” Niall corrects. He chucks his chin and lifts his glass a bit higher. “ _Go maire sibh bhur saol nua_.”

They all clink their glasses, except Zayn who doesn’t want his germs to get in their cups, and drink. Millie tilts her head with a little juice mustache and surveys Niall. “What does that mean?”

“It means ‘may you enjoy your new life,’” Niall explains. He bites off a hefty mouthful of bacon. “Because when you got born, your dad started being a dad and stopped being… not a dad. So he had a new life. With you, and Louis. And all of us. We’d barely knew him.”

Millie smiles at Niall with all of her teeth, then looks up and gives Harry a syrup-sticky kiss under his chin. “Did you?”

Harry squeaks, because it tickles, then gives Millie a little squeeze. “Did I what?”

“Enjoy it,” Millie elaborates. “Your new life with me and Muppie.”

“Yes,” Harry assures her, and gives her another warm squeeze. “Much more than my old life.”

“When you were a bakery?” Millie steals a few grapes from Niall’s plate and Niall squawks. “I think you should still be a bakery, and also a singer, and also a daddy, and also everything else you want to be.”

Harry smiles down at her and steals back one of her stolen grapes, which makes _Millie_ squawk. “And what is it you hope I want to be?”

“A horse owner!” Millie says excitedly. “Because Zayn will buy me a horse. For our garden.” She sighs and cups her cheeks in both hands. “That will be my new life. A girl with a horse. And a chameleon. And a dog and a cat! A girl with a zoo is my new life!”

•••

After Danielle leaves, they play one more show in the United States before boarding a long, dull flight to Mexico City and on into South America, where they’ve never played before. It’s exciting and humbling to play for such excited crowds who have never been able to get tickets, so they go back and play longer shows outside of the usual setlist – making sure everyone gets to see them perform “One Thing” and “Up All Night” as well as standby “What Makes You Beautiful,” and tracks from the second album that never really gained enough traction to be singles after “Live While We’re Young.” They’re fun shows in exciting cities, even if the travel restrictions make it hard for them to do much more than see hotels and skylines as they shuffle from Mexico to Venezuela to Peru via bus, with a short stop for a five-hour signing in La Paz – outdoors in humidity so thick their clothes stick to them in minutes and Liam, Harry, and Millie all resemble disgruntled poodles with their curling hair.

It takes three grueling, hot days to get from Lima to Buenos Aires, and they have to disembark and have the bus and all of their bags searched at every border. They pass down the Chilean coast, through a national reserve where they see geoglyphs in the rock face.

“That’s interesting, huh, bean?” Louis asks, pointing to the towering, pre-Columbian figure.

“Not really,” Millie answers dryly, fanning her face. She twists her hair up into a ponytail and holds it off her neck. “Will you cut my hairs off? They are too hot.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait three more weeks and have Lou do it?” Louis asks nervously, then blows a stream of cool air across the back of her neck.

“Three weeks is three weeks too long,” Millie says firmly. “I will get you scissors. I will borrow Zayn’s hair scissors.” She scampers down from her bench seat and trots into the sleeping quarters of the bus, where Zayn is curled up in his bunk, facing the wall.

Millie crawls up and rests her hand on Zayn’s forehead. “Are you ill?”

“I think just a bit,” Zayn admits. “You don’t want to catch it.”

“Shhh, little ill baby,” Millie coos, and starts fanning Zayn’s face with both hands. “You have a boiling fever. I will take care of you.” She scoots up his mattress and starts trying to fluff his pillow while his head is still on it. 

Zayn laughs softly, but it quickly turns into a disgusting, wheezy, soupy cough. “Acchi – you don’t want to catch this, alright?” he finally chokes. “Go run on and find your dad.”

Millie is still sitting on his bed, staring at him with concerned, round eyes. “Are you sure?” She touches his forehead again. “You are so hot you’ll be shriveling up like a sock in a dryer.”

Zayn holds in his second laugh, but coughs anyway. “I’m sure, little one. You can help me by finding Paul, alright?”

“Okay!” Millie jumps off his bed and lands with a clatter on the floor. “I will find him and also can I borrow your hair scissors?”

“Erm, sure,” Zayn says, and rolls over to find a cool place on the pillow for his hot face. “Don’t run with them.”

“I will not,” Millie assures him, patting his shoulder. She roots through his bag of cosmetics and gets out the scissors, then walks very slowly and purposefully back out to present them to Louis. As soon as they’re in his hand, Zayn hears her scream, “PAUL!” at the top of her voice and go tearing off towards the front of the bus. “PAUL! ZAYN NEEDS YOU!”

Zayn would laugh, but breathing hurts too much.

When they finally reach Argentina, Millie has hair shorn shorter than Harry’s and Zayn has a fever of 41° C, so he’s rushed right away to a hospital with eerie pale green walls and no one who speaks the same language as him or Paul or, really, Niall, since Niall’s Spanish is accented and Castillian. Once they get the fever down to something more manageable, it transpires he only has acute bronchitis, but as he’s already been sick for two weeks, he’s kept overnight for observation.

Niall stays with him, curled up on the plastic chair at Zayn’s bedside – it’s only in part so that someone who speaks Spanish at all will be there to answer questions; it’s more for Zayn, so he doesn’t have to be alone. No matter how much One Direction has traveled since that first time Zayn saw an airplane in real life, he’s never gone anywhere _alone_ , and Niall doesn’t want him to feel as though he’s starting now. 

He can’t perform in Montevideo or Sao Paolo, either, but he joins the boys back onstage in Rio de Janeiro. Millie hovers in the wings with a thermos of hot water with lemon and honey, even though she’d cried earlier because Zayn yelled at her for flushing all of his cigarettes.

That made Harry yell at Zayn, too, which made Niall yell at Harry, and over all, it had been a _horrible_ day. Five months on tour with the same people was proving more difficult than they’d imagined, and they had figured it would be difficult. Liam only didn’t get into the fight because he was busy Skyping Danielle to see what he could do to help with the estate agent and house arrangements, and Louis was busy trying to calm Millie down.

It wasn’t One Direction’s best show.

Zayn starts to feel better – or so he says – so he insists on playing the San Juan, Puerto Rico show like normal, jumping and shouting and thrusting. Harry also finds an almost-empty pack of full-flavor L&Ms in Zayn’s go-bag while they’re all heading down to the beach, and something more frightened than angry twists in his gut.

It doesn’t surprise him that Zayn starts wheezing again over Turks & Caicos as they fly back up to Miami. He swears he feels fine, it’s just the altitude; Paul holds a hand over Zayn’s forehead and decides, dubiously, that since he doesn’t seem to have a fever, he doesn’t have to go to the hospital. They do bring back their road physician for more Vitamin B – but this time, everyone except Millie gets a dose, because they’re all fucking exhausted. Only two more weeks to go before they’re home, and they take another six months off so Millie can enroll in Year 1, Louis can take the Xtra Factor position again while Liam judges, and Danielle, of course, is set to have the twins.

Harry isn’t really sure what he’s going to do. He liked just keeping house before, but he’s also itching to keep working. He’s asked Katie to find out if he could audition for a show in the West End, maybe. Something musical, of course. He could get acting lessons. Maybe Louis and he could take them together. _Spamalot!_ , maybe, or _Bare_ if he can still pull off looking eighteen, which he’s fairly sure he does. He’s only twenty-one, after all.

Zayn does seem to have a second wind while they’re in the USA again. He performs well in Miami, even if his notes aren’t as long and strong as usual. They fly through Nashville, Atlanta, and Memphis for three shows in three nights; Lou, Tom, and Lux fly out to join them. It’s a good thing, too, that Millie has Lux around for company again, because they’re back in New York for two weeks of televised interviews, fan signings, and a massive show at Madison Square Garden to close out the whole tour.

They all, separately, catch Zayn slumped up against walls or curled tight in chairs, wheezing hard for no reason, and they are all, separately, sworn by him to secrecy. He wants to sing at MSG, and he isn’t going to let a little shortness of breath stop him.

When Millie catches him, it’s backstage before the show in the labyrinthine greenrooms below the Garden. He’s crouched down with his head between his knees and his hands covering the back of his neck, sweating through his blazer and shivering like he’s frozen.

Millie sits down beside him and touches his shoulder. “Zayn? I think you are ill really bad.”

Zayn shakes his head determinately and coughs, raw, and doesn’t quite manage to hide from Millie that there are streaks of blood on the tissue he’s using to cover his mouth.

“I’m okay, acchi, I promise,” he croaks. “Just one more night and we’ll be home. Perrie can take care of me there, right?”

Millie twists her mouth dubiously. “I think I should my daddy you are bleeding.”

“No,” Zayn argues, “I’m really alright, just – split my lip ‘cause it’s dry. Please, Millie. I just want to sing this _one last_ show. Please?”

Narrowing her eyes, Millie asks, “Is it a secret? Because school said no secrets that hurts people. I gotta tell if it’s a secret.”

“It’s not a secret,” Zayn promises. “I’m just asking a favor. And we’re going home _tonight_ , Mills, after the show, right? I’ll be home _really_ soon to see a doctor and call my mum.” He pushes himself up to his feet and manages to take a deep breath. He smiles, lips tight, down at Millie. “I’m okay. See?”

Millie keeps frowning, but nods. “Okay. But I am watching you, mister!”

“Okay,” Zayn says fondly. “You keep watching me.”

They perform the show, one of the biggest of their lives, and Zayn does alright. All four other boys keep an eye on him because his notes seem especially aborted – almost out of tune if he tries to hold them, which is extraordinarily unlike Zayn – and his microphone is picking up squeaky wheezing noises between songs.

They all sit on the set sofa more just to encourage him to stop jumping around and moving so much. During the costume change, Harry and Louis are unnerved by just how sweat-soaked Zayn’s clothes are and how much he shivers as he strips them off. His teeth are even chattering, even though it’s hot in the wings from all of the electronics. Before the finale, Zayn runs off to the emergency bathroom and throws up.

He smokes a cigarette outside as they load the shuttle to the airport, and Millie tucks close into Louis’ arms as she stares sadly at Zayn. 

Louis brushes a kiss over her forehead. “What’s up, little bean? You’re quiet. Aren’t you excited to go home to your very own bed and get Bertram back from Grandma Anne?”

Millie starts like he’s jogged her from a daydream and she gives him a smile. “I am very excited! Can we eat fish and chips tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Louis says, nodding. He smiles back and bites the end of her nose. “That sounds like a great idea.”

“Whoopie-doo!” Millie cheers, and hugs her arms tight around Louis’ neck as they board the bus for the last time. 

On the airplane, Louis and Harry take it in turns to sleep so that someone is awake for Millie in case she needs them. She gets bored after they’re served their in-flight meals, though, and wanders off to go sit by Zayn, who’s rested his head against the window, eyes glazed but open. 

Harry looks at Louis and catches his hand, tangling their fingers together. “I’m worried about Zayn.”

“Me, too,” Louis admits. “But it’s none of ours. We’ve just got to worry about packing up everything at home this week so we can see those properties on Saturday before I have to go up to Glasgow for auditions with Cazza.”

Harry rests his head down on Louis’ shoulder. “I’m excited about buying a house with you. Is that stupid?”

“No.” Louis bends down and gently kisses Harry’s mouth once, twice, three times.

“Even though apparently you don’t want to marry me ever?” Harry says – but it’s light, not pressuring.

“Well, we can’t, for one thing,” Louis says dryly. “It’s not legal in London. And… no, not really. I saw what divorcing Mark did to my mum, and I’d just rather not. If we’re not married yet and we have the life we have together, I don’t see why we need it.”

“I guess that’s fair,” Harry sighs. “Although I might develop a complex about how no one ever wants to marry me.”

“Erm, the prescription for that complex is ‘check twitter, you twat,’” Louis laughs, nudging Harry’s head with his shoulder. “You’ve probably ninety proposals right there in the last two minutes.”

Harry smiles and nestles his head back down more comfortably against Louis’ shoulder. “I guess that’s good if I ever get lonely.”

Louis flicks Harry’s ear. “Go to sleep.”

So Harry dozes, headphones in and head rested on Louis, waiting to get back to the UK. Home. Their flat will always have a hold on his heart, since it’s where they lived first and where they fell in love and where Millie was a tiny baby, but she didn’t say her first words there or take her first steps there, and that makes it feel different to him – less like they’re moving out of a living archive of their lives and _into_ somewhere with the potential for that kind of permanence. And after six months of being on the road, bouncing from place to place, Harry is most looking forward to… calm. 

When he’s woken with a jolt a few hours later to Millie screaming in sobs muffled against Louis’ chest and panic in the rest of the cabin, Paul and flight attendants conferring with the co-pilot and Liam and Niall helping Louis to shield Millie from – something, Harry feels his heart fly up into his throat.

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	29. Chapter 29

“What’s going on?” he asks, touching Louis’ arm.

Millie just keeps sobbing, and Louis ignores Harry as he bounces Millie on his knee and croons, _shh, sweetie, it’s okay, he’ll be alright. They’re taking good care of him and you did just the right things to help. Okay?_

“I made a mistake,” Millie sobs, and she clutches her fingers into the cotton of Louis’ t-shirt until her knuckles are white. “I know he is too ill but he made me promise I would not tell, and now he is really bad!”

“That was not you making the mistake, Millie,” Louis says firmly, rubbing her back. “Zayn should never have made you promise that.”

Millie just shakes her head and buries her face into the side of Louis’ neck as he keeps rubbing soothing circles over her back and humming soft noises in her ear. Harry’s stomach turns with nausea not entirely caused by being woken from a deep, short sleep, and he’s disoriented, like the world is tilted on an unfriendly axis.

He leans across Louis and Millie to tug on Niall’s elbow. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

After pulling Harry up out of his seat so he can whisper in Harry’s ear to keep Millie from overhearing any more, Niall says, “Millie was playing with Zayn when he started coughing up blood and went over blue. She pushed the call button and ran down to coach yellin’ for a doctor to come up and help. They have to give him oxygen. She’s a right tiny hero, if I’m being honest.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Harry reaches down to rest his hand over the back of Millie’s head, weaving his fingers through her curls gently. “Do we know yet?”

Niall shrugs, looking young and helpless. “Don’t know. This doctor came up from coach with Millie and she got him to stop coughing and breathe in a bit and the flight attendant gave him this inhaler, like an asthma inhaler? But he’s got the oxygen mask on now and – it’s kind of scaring me. If I’m – telling the truth.”

Harry hugs Niall around the waist with the arm that isn’t on Louis and Millie. He presses his cheek to Niall’s back and nuzzles him a little for comfort. Beside them, Liam and Paul are talking in hushed, terse whispers, gesturing between Zayn, the lead flight attendant, and Millie. 

“What can I do?” Harry asks, squeezing Niall a little closer.

“We’ve got to let Zayn’s mum know to come to London,” Niall mutters thoughtfully. “Erm, I’m – I’m gonna see if they’ll let me ride with him to hospital even though I’m not family, strictly speaking. I just don’t want him to be alone.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry says. “Erm, has anyone told Perrie, too? And his dad?”

Niall shakes his head, and Harry nods. “I can do that. Do you want me to try to come with you guys or meet you at hospital later?”

“You should take care of Millie,” Niall says. “She and Lou need you. But yeah, call Zayn’s family and Perrie when we know where they’ll take him.”

Harry nods, gives Niall a last headcuddle, and sits back to focus on calming Millie. He hums softly in her ear _I hear you’re a big hero, little bean. Everything is okay_ and keeps stroking her hair; gently kissing her arm, Harry eases Millie’s fingers out of their hold on Louis’ shirt so she can grip onto his thumb instead.

Millie is crying so hard her eyes are swollen nearly shut, nose fat and red and her little voice going hoarse. She’s gagging a little with every inhale and there’s snot all over her face and Louis’ shirt.

“Hey,” Harry murmurs. “Take a deep breath, little sweetie bean, nice and big – that’s it. Let’s all breathe together, okay? In… and out. And in – that’s good, you’re okay – and out. Nice and slow,” Harry praises Millie, taking big breaths with her and with Louis. He reaches into his day bag and pulls out a small pack of tissues to wipe her face, and urges her to blow her nose. “Here, sweetie, why don’t you come over and sit in my lap and we’ll have some water, okay? Does your tummy hurt at all?”

Millie shakes her head, her curls stuck to her forehead and her eyes tiny red slits, but clambers into Harry’s lap gratefully all the same. Her little hands shake as she picks up her plastic cup of water in both hands and guzzles it down too fast, spluttering a cough – which makes her start wailing again, spitting up straight water all over Harry’s arm.

“Shhhh.” Louis kisses her head and mops up her chin. “You _have_ to calm down, sweetie, or you’ll make yourself ill, too, and that won’t help Zayn. So you have to take big breaths and stop crying, okay? You did not do anything wrong, and he’s going to be just fine because you saved the day. I promise.”

Harry looks quickly at Louis. That isn’t a promise that they know they can keep.

•••

When they finally land at Heathrow, everyone else on the plane, including the boys and Millie, is detained while Zayn is fitted with oxygen and loaded into a hospital transport helicopter. They refuse to let Niall ride with them, but Niall holds onto Zayn’s hand as long as he’s allowed and promises over and over that he’ll be in a cab right behind them.

Millie is such a mess that there’s no way Harry can offer to follow, too, and he and Louis have to leave Liam behind to take care of checking in all of their massive, massive amounts of luggage for all five boys and getting them loaded into the vans headed back to the apartment complex. It’s a situation like this that makes Harry grateful that, for now at least, they’re all still living in the same place so they can all be together where they’re needed. Millie is so sweaty from crying for hours that her dress is sticking to her, and there are stains on the skirt where she threw up in Louis’ lap from swallowing so much air. Harry bundles her up in a blanket and carries her like she’s still tiny, and he’s never been so glad in his life that Zayn punched that pap years ago so they don’t have to deal with invasive cameras and rude questions as he and Louis hustle Millie out of the airport and into a cab.

When they get home, Millie starts crying again – this time, in relief. Harry carries her off to take a bath while Louis waits by his phone, compulsively brewing a cup of tea to calm his nerves. Harry is gentle as he washes Millie’s short hair with her favorite shampoo, and he encourages her to play with all of her little toys that they’d had to leave at home for the last seven months: she kisses her rubber crocodiles and frogs, but splashes her boats listlessly. Harry lets her stay nested in her Pingu flannel while he brushes out her snarled hair and dabs balm on her chapped lips and red nose.

After they find that all of the pajamas in her closet are too small for her now, Harry gives her one of Louis’ ratty old t-shirts to wear and she practically swims in it.

There’s a knock at her bedroom door. “Look who I’ve found,” Louis sings, and he holds out the ratty toy crocodile, one-eyed and bald-tailed. “And a Liam, as well.”

Millie hiccups and hugs onto her crocodile desperately, and Louis trades places with Harry so he can sit by Millie and finger-comb her curls as they dry while Harry checks in with Liam about Zayn.

“What’s going on? Did Niall tell you? Did his mum make it to the hospital yet?”

“Yeah, his mum is there, and his dad, too, and Perrie and Niall,” Liam assures him. “They’re sitting with Safaa. Niall texted a bit ago and said they’re doing all kinds of tests, erm – here’s the list?”

Harry takes Liam’s mobile and reads through: bronchoscopy, chest CT and x-ray, a complete blood count, pulmonary arteriography, a sputum culture. A lung biopsy.

“Shit,” Harry whispers, and Liam pulls him in for a hug. “Is he alright?”

“He’s breathing on his own,” Liam says, and it’s barely a consolation. “Niall’s gonna put his family up for the next few days. What a disaster.” He sighs. “How is Millie now?”

Harry shakes his head. “A wreck.”

“Have any of you eaten?” Liam asks, sensible as ever. “You should, if you haven’t, and erm – if he’s got something contagious, maybe Millie should see a doctor tomorrow. I’d’ve brought Danielle by, but – we’re a bit worried about germs and all.”

“Understandable,” Harry says. “It’s okay, really. And yeah, I should make her some broth or something.” He blows a breath through his teeth. “Keep me updated?”

“Of course!” Liam hugs him again, and Harry lets himself collapse a little, trusting Liam to hold his weight. “He should hear back with the biopsy results by Wednesday, just since it’s late now and they have to wait for the lab techs. It’ll be okay.”

“We’ve all got to stop saying that,” Harry whispers. “Louis promised Millie that Zayn will be fine and if he’s not – I don’t know what to – ”

“Stop that.” Liam is firm and decisive, pulling back to make Harry look him in the eye. “It’s not time to worry about that. Maybe it never will be. Got to take it as it comes. I was – when I was a baby, my parents could have been lying to me and each other and everyone about me being okay, and look at me now. I’ve got my own babies for pete’s sake. Just – you never know.”

Harry swallows and nods faintly, looking away to study the cracks in the molding he’s never noticed before.

“Go make your family some dinner,” Liam urges. “You’ll all feel better. Just… act as normal. You’re finally home. Curl up, watch a film. Put Millie to sleep in her own bed. Tomorrow is a new day and we’ll know more.”

Harry scrubs a tired hand over his face. “Yeah. Yeah, that sounds right. Thanks, Liam.”

Liam pats Harry’s cheek and turns to go, shouldering past their mounds of boxes and suitcases. Harry takes a minute to shore his feelings, then shakes out his hair, sweeps his fringe out of his eyes, and pads towards Millie’s bedroom.

He pastes on a soft smile. “Hey, bean. D’you want some soup or – well, I think all we’ve got is soup, it’s in cans. Or we could take a trip to the store and buy some eggs and cheese if you want.”

Millie shakes her head and nuzzles closer to her crocodile. “I am not hungry.”

“I know, but I bet your tummy has hunger even if your mind doesn’t,” Harry says. “Come on. Let’s eat some soup. Do you want chicken? Or noodles? Or… maybe we have some rice soup?”

“I want eggstirbakin,” Millie sniffles. “With cheese.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, and smiles a little stronger. “Let’s get some clothes and coats on and we’ll go buy everything we need for the kitchen to be home, alright? You can bring crocodile.”

So they do. They open up the suitcase of Millie’s last remaining clean clothes and she picks out whatever she wants to wear, and they all wrap up in coats and scarves and warm up Louis’ car to drive down to Sainsbury’s. They buy boxes of cereal and crackers and biscuits, squash and bottles of juice, Cadbury pot desserts and loads of fresh fruit, eggs and cheese and milk and bread and everything else to restock their kitchen. Harry lets Millie nibble on a giraffe roll with a slice of cheese tucked in and drink a juicebox while they wheel her around in a trolley, just because now that she’s stopped crying and they’re doing something very calm and normal and _distracting_ , she’s realized she hasn’t eaten in about 18 hours and she’s famished. 

He glances over in the Frozen aisle to see Louis covertly crunching on a bag of Monster Munch, and Louis shrugs, pink-cheeked. Millie actually giggles, and Harry feels his heart ease a bit as he leans over to kiss the top of her head.

After they get home, Harry makes Millie an egg with cheese and some toast. They do curl up and watch a movie, although Millie gets sick in the middle with her nerves still upset and Louis has to dig through all of their luggage to find her tummy medicine. She cries a little more before she agrees to go to sleep, but once she’s tucked into bed, she falls asleep almost immediately, exhausted beyond functioning anymore.

Harry feels rather the same as he stares despondently at the enormous mess that is their flat. 

“Come on,” Louis murmurs in his ear, giving Harry’s waist a little stroke. “Let’s go to sleep. Leave it for tomorrow. If we’re to be moving soon anyway, maybe unpacking would be dumb as it is.”

“That’s true,” Harry agrees, but the idea of worrying about moving house right now feels cruel. Leaving the complex. Leaving Zayn, and Niall, and the boys behind. He knows that’s irrational, but it’s been a day beyond realism.

They’re quiet as they move their dishes from the sink into the dishwasher. They brush their teeth and fall into bed in their pants, too tired to find their pajamas in the mess of luggage and boxes.

Louis curls around Harry, his chest pressed tightly to Harry’s back, but Harry can’t relax.

Louis kisses Harry’s tense shoulder gently. “Hey,” he whispers. “He’ll be alright.”

“We don’t know that, Lou,” Harry murmurs back. Louis’ lips brush over the soft curve of skin at the join between Harry’s neck and back and normally, no matter how upset he is, when Harry is kissed there, his muscles relax and he sighs, low and happy. But tonight, he keeps curled up, biting at his knuckle.

“You’re right,” Louis relents in a whisper. He slides his hand around the flat of Harry’s side and caresses his belly once soothingly. “But I have to believe it. So do you.”

“Louis,” Harry interrupts. “If something happens to me – I don’t want you stuck outside everything like Perrie. Stuck outside with Safaa, waiting. I want you to be – I need you to be there, and if I were to – I want you to have Millie.”

Louis swallows and curls himself tighter around Harry. “Hey, no talking like that. I mean it, Harry. Not ever. We’re – you can’t – no talking like that.”

“I mean it, though. I want you to have her and I want you to keep our family together,” Harry says. “It’s just Zayn’s got me thinking. Just in case, or like, obviously my mum would let you stay with her, but you couldn’t, if she got ill or hurt or whatever, you wouldn’t be allowed to, like, be with her. Clare is still legally Millie’s other guardian, you know, she’s – her mother. And I always thought, well, maybe. Or that my mum could take her. But I don’t want that. Nobody deserves her except you.”

Louis bites his lips tightly between his teeth and nuzzles the back of Harry’s neck, letting his eyelashes flutter against Harry’s skin. Harry’s hand finally comes up and reaches around behind him to rest on Louis’ hip and give it a squeeze.

“Louis?” Harry whispers. “Will you adopt Millie?”

Louis nods against Harry’s shoulder. “Yeah, of course. If it comes to it.”

“No,” Harry argues, “No, I mean – now. As soon as possible. I just realized; it’s so silly you haven’t. You’re her – ” Harry cuts himself off on a sharp inhale, then squeezes Louis’ hip again. “You’re her dad. As much as me.”

“No, I’m not,” Louis whispers fiercely. “I’m her Mup.”

Harry rolls over and bears Louis down onto the mattress as he bestows him with a bruising kiss, big hands clutching to both sides of Louis’ face. Louis runs his hands down Harry’s back and they land rested over the indent of his waist, thumbs gently pressed into the dimples at the base of his spine. Harry kisses and kisses and kisses Louis until they’re panting lightly and then rests his forehead against the bridge of Louis’ nose.

“I love you, Lou.”

Louis swallows and smiles. “I love you, too.”

“I’m going to call our solicitor in the morning,” Harry whispers. “I want Clare to sign the papers, finally, or whatever it takes. I want Millie to be really _ours_.”

Louis’ smile broadens and Harry nips up to catch his bottom lip between his teeth gently. “Okay.”

Harry kisses Louis again and they roll onto their sides with the sort of practiced gracelessness that comes only from years of sleeping in the same bed, kissing the same mouths, slotting hips against the same hips. Harry’s hand rests over the slope of Louis’ round arse and Louis’ palm cups Harry’s jaw, fingertips gently teasing at Harry’s earlobe because he’s the only one who gets to see Harry’s ears. They kiss pressed close together, feeling each other hard through their soft pyjama bottoms, but it’s not the sort of night for a quick, silent rutt. So they kiss until Louis is whimpering in the back of his throat and then Harry backs off, pressing soothing, warm lips to the column of Louis’ throat and rubbing a warm hand over Louis’ back and up to rest over his chest, feeling his heartbeat slow back to normal and tired.

Louis smiles at Harry with his eyes closed before he yawns and rolls over. He rubs his arse into Harry’s crotch just to be difficult. Harry snorts a laugh through his nose, and he feels, finally, like he could slow his brain enough to sleep.

They settle down and it’s a long time before Harry speaks again. There are wrens churring on their windowsill and the dust in the air is just beginning to sparkle in the slice of half-light peeking through their curtains.

“I don’t just want it ‘cause it’d be good for Millie,” Harry murmurs, pulling Louis just a bit closer. “I want it ‘cause of – you and me. You’re my family, Lou. Not just Millie’s. You’re her Mup, but you’re my Louis.”

“Alright, we’re not on _Coronation Street_ ,” Louis chides. “Don’t get dramatic.”

Harry can hear that he’s pretending. 

There’s another moment and the sound of soft breath before Louis whispers, “Thank you, Harry.”

Harry kisses the back of Louis’ head and then, finally, closes his eyes to fall asleep.

•••

They only get three hours of sleep before Niall rings them: the chest CT and x-ray look like he has advanced pneumonia, but they’re going to wait on the sputum and biopsy results just in case, considering Zayn had been traveling for so long and smokes so goddamn much.

“Oh, good,” Louis yawns, his voice rough. “Pneumonia… that’s not so bad, is it?”

“Well, I guess it sort of is ‘cause of how bad it’s got,” Niall says grimly. “They’ve got him on an IV and all, and he’s been on and off an oxygen therapy mask. I guess there’s all kinds of like, breathing exercises and devices and such they’re gonna try him on when he’s well enough to be stable and awake. His fever’s still going a bit mad. Kept spiking in the night.”

Louis nods, then remembers that Niall can’t see him. “Has he spoken at all? Said anything?”

“Nah,” Niall says. “But his mum said to thank Millie for getting him help. She can’t come see him in the room ‘cause of kid-germs and stuff, and the doctor said you might want to get her checked straight away because she was a premie baby and her lungs are still young yet, but yeah, we all think she’s a right little hero and we’re grateful.”

Louis yawns again, so hard that his shoulders hitch up to his ears. “I’ll tell her when she wakes up. Thanks for letting us know, Nailfile. Come by later if you want and we’ll fix you lunch.”

“Yeah, I’ll bring Perrie with me and the girls they want,” Niall agrees. “Thanks, Lou. Give Mills a kiss from us all.”

“I will.” Louis hangs up and collapses back down on the pillows. His shoulder jostles Harry’s arm, and Harry grumble-groans, turning his face into the pillows. 

“’S’too early.”

“I know; I’m sorry,” Louis whispers. He kisses Harry’s shoulder. “Keep sleeping. I’m gonna get up, though. Take a shower and make some calls around. I want to check in with mum.”

Harry mumbles and nods into the bedding, and Louis laughs under his breath as he swings his feet out of bed. The floor is cold beneath his bare feet and he hops on his toes out to the carpeted living room so he can dig through their bags, searching for his clothing. He finds a pair of his own plaid pajama trousers and one of Harry’s big, cable-knit jumpers, and he steals a pair of Harry’s socks. The whole flat is cold, Louis thinks, but it takes him a few minutes before he remembers where the controls for the central heating are. They’ve been gone a long time.

Louis cranks up the heater. He sets the kettle on for tea. And then he hops up onto the countertop to ring his mum.

“Darling,” Jay sighs straight away, “How is Zayn?”

“They’re thinking pneumonia right now,” Louis says. He curls around one knee. “But there’s still the biopsy and some other tests running. I guess his breathing is – he can _do_ it on his own, but they’re still giving him oxygen.”

“Do you know if they’ve had him try spirometry?” Jay asks. 

“I don’t even know what that is,” Louis says. “But I don’t think so. They had him on oxygen the whole flight, too, after Millie got help. Niall keeps calling her a ‘tiny hero.’”

“Well, it sounds to me like she is.” Jay’s voice is indulgent. Louis can hear her own tea kettle whistling in the background, and he smiles. He’s missed England. He’s missed his mum.

“Harry wants me to adopt her,” Louis says softly. “Formally.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Louis can hear Jay sniffling.

“Oh, _Mum_ ,” Louis groans, “Don’t _cry_ over it! It – might not happen. Like, the council could say no, or Clare, or – you know, there’s just a lot that could happen. But yeah, it – it felt good for him to ask.”

“It’s been a long time coming,” Jay agrees. “And Louis, if anyone says no, then they’re crazy, because Millie’s been your daughter as long as she’s been Harry’s if you ask me.”

“Well, Mum, you’re biased. I hate to be the one to tell you,” Louis laughs, and hops down from the counter so he can pour his own tea. “And nah, I don’t agree. I love Millie and she loves me, but I don’t know… there’s nothing really that I’ve ever seen like how Harry is with her. It’s like… the best thing, really. I can’t compete with that, and I know it.”

“That’s the beauty of being her two parents who love her equally, isn’t it?” Jay asks kindly. “It’s not a competition.”

“I always loved you a lot more than I liked Mark.” Louis bobs his tea bag, wondering if it’s dark enough yet or whether another minute will send it over to builder’s tea and he’ll have to start all over again.

Jay is silent for a moment. Louis can hear her swallow her own tea, and he sets his bag on a saucer. 

“That’s because we didn’t love you equally,” Jay says finally, and it’s an apology. “And I think – you always knew it. That was, that was part of the end. He never… he never quite forgot that you weren’t his child. But when I look at you and Millie, it’s always amazed me how much that’s never seemed to matter to you. Even before you moved in with Harry and really met her, just the way you talked about them both… it was like a revelation. And I love you all for it.”

“Well,” Louis coughs. “She’s easy to love.”

“So she is!” Jay laughs. “She’s a little curly-haired charmer. Wonder if it runs in the family, d’you?”

“Har har,” Louis says flatly. He sips his tea and makes a face. It _is_ too strong. “I don’t know what we’d do without her, honestly. If she hadn’t been there yesterday and seen Zayn keel over, who knows what would have happened?”

“She’s really been a blessing,” Jay agrees. “And you’re a blessing for her, too, and for Harry. When you went to try out for the X Factor I was _so nervous_ because – not for if you didn’t make it, but if you did, I have to say I was worried this life would eat you alive. But instead it brought you Harry and Millie and the boys, and I have no idea how we’ve all got so lucky.”

Louis nods, and the back of his throat feels tight. “I don’t – I don’t want to lose anyone. I’ve been… we’ve got to look confident for Millie, you know? And I always try to protect Harry, like, I’ve always done, but… I’m really scared about losing Zayn. Even if he’s okay, like – what if he can’t sing? What if he leaves us?” Louis lets out a shaky breath. “I feel like if he does, then the bubble’s burst, you know? I don’t want Zayn to leave the band and then everyone to fall apart and have Harry realize that – I don’t want to rush into the adoption.”

“ _Louis William Tomlinson_.” Jay’s voice is hard and insistent. “It is not rushing if it’s been nearly _five years_ , and if you really don’t trust Harry that he loves you aside from One Direction… you shouldn’t adopt his daughter, because you don’t pay attention to anything either of them says. You deserve love, Louis, and Harry loves you. And it has nothing to do with the band. It never did. It has to do with you.”

Louis hesitates. “I know. I mean, I do know that. Everything just feels really fragile right now.”

“Your brother is very ill,” Jay accepts. “Things will feel odd until you know he’s alright. But just remember to take a step back, and _breathe_ , and remember what matters. Give Millie a big hug. Give Harry a kiss. Remember to feed Niall, but not after midnight. You’ll all be alright. Your family’s going to survive whatever happens.”

Louis laughs softly, the tension in his chest opening. “Yeah. Thanks, Mum. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Jay says. “Are we still seeing you Monday at Anne’s so Millie can get her lizard?”

“I think so, unless something – unless Zayn needs us,” Louis amends. “Maybe we’ll bring Millie up to get away anyhow. I’ll talk to Harry if it comes to it.”

There sound of little feet padding into the kitchen, and the soft _shush_ of Crocodile’s tail dragging on the floor behind her, reaches Louis, and he smiles. “I’ve to go, Mum. There’s a little bean coming who I’m guessing wants some eggs.”

Millie’s round face appears around the kitchen door frame. Her eyes are still swollen from the day before, and her lips and nose are chapped pink, but she isn’t crying and she looks well-rested. She nods, and trots into the kitchen to hug onto Louis’ leg where it hangs over the side of the countertop. 

Louis reaches down and smooths his fingers through her hair. “Bean, d’you want to say hi to Grandma Jay?”

Millie nods, so Louis hops down from the counter, hands her his mobile, and swings her up to sit on the countertop herself as he gets eggs and milk out of the refrigerator. He leaves a squeaky kiss on her cheek as she chatters to his mum.

Louis keeps one steady hand rested on Millie’s knee as he scrambles her up and egg with cheese and some toast and fixes fried egg Magic Sandwiches for himself and Harry. Harry shuffles sleepily into the kitchen just as Millie is ringing off with Jay, and he wraps his arms around Louis’ waist at the stove so he can kiss the back of Louis’ neck. 

“How’re things?” he asks tentatively. His voice is still soft and scratchy with sleep.

“Niall says things are alright,” Louis mutters. “Pneumonia, but there are a few tests pending still.”

Harry nods, his chin hooked over Louis’ shoulder. His breath is sour, but Louis doesn’t mind. “That’s… good. It’s good.”

Louis reaches behind him and gives Harry’s waist a squeeze; Harry yelps because it _tickles_ unexpectedly, and they both start laughing. “It is good.”

He dishes up Harry’s egg sandwich onto a plate. “Here. Take this and go sit. Get a juice for Bean.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry jokes. “What do we, erm, are we seeing anyone today?”

“We can’t yet, because of G-E-R-M-S,” Louis explains. He looks at Millie. “Niall says Zayn is alright, though.” Millie smiles, and immediately looks like a twenty-kilo weight has been taken from her shoulders. “But I was thinking that today we’d go through and sort out the washing from the rest of the luggage and then start packing up other things for when we see the new property on Saturday and start moving things in next week?”

“We are we getting the dog?” Millie pipes, her mouth full of egg. “Today?”

“No, sweetie, not today,” Harry says. “When we’re all moved into the new house, we can get a dog. Do you know what you’re gonna name him?”

“ _Her_ ,” Millie says fiercely. “Her name is Reginald.”

“That’s a boy’s name,” Louis and Harry say in one voice.

Millie gives them a withering look. “Anybody can have any name they wants. And my girl dog wants to be named Reginald.”

“Okay, fine,” Harry says. “What about a cat? What should we name a cat?”

Millie thinks about this as she shovels more egg into her mouth. Her eyes flicker brightly as she sits up like the idea’s struck her lightning. “Pooper-Scooper!”

Louis snorts juice through his nose and then groans in pain, flailing a bit across the kitchen for a paper towel. Harry sets his fork down and stares at Millie where she’s crowing over Louis’ misfortune.

“Bertram… Reginald… and _Pooper-Scooper_?” he asks flatly. “Why d’you hate cats?”

“I don’t!” Millie assures him, still giggling at Louis mopping up his nose. “It is just the right name.”

“Okay,” Harry says slowly, “What about… a pet hamster? Or guinea pig?”

“Alfonse for a hamster,” Millie says immediately. “And guinea pigs names themself. Probably Theodoric.”

Harry cocks his head, watching Millie swing her legs as she drops a load of eggs out of her mouth and shovels them back in with a spoon. “You’re an odd kid.”

“I am _your_ odd kid,” Millie corrects, and gives him a smile. It wavers a little and she swallows her eggs. “Is my Zayn really okay?”

“That’s what Niall told me this morning,” Louis assures her, still holding a napkin to his nose. “He said that Zayn is very ill, but he’s going to be okay because you saved the day. And he said that everyone in Zayn’s family said to give you a big, big kiss.”

“ _I_ am in Zayn’s family,” Millie points out, “And I did not kiss myself.”

“You should,” Harry says, and ruffles her hair. “You were very brave and very smart and you did everything exactly right. And I’m very proud of you for how well you did even though you were scared.”

Millie looks abashed for a moment, then snaps herself out of it and gives her own hand a big, smacking kiss. “I did not know what to do, so I got help from a grown-ups.”

“That’s the exactly right thing to do when you don’t know,” Louis promises her. “When you were a tiny, tiny little baby, you got really sick once and had to go to hospital, too, because your daddy and I didn’t know what to do, and we got help from grown-ups.”

“Really?” Millie scratches her nose. “Was I okay?”

Harry gives her a wrinkle-nosed grin and reaches out to tickle her tummy. “You tell me if you’re okay! Are you okay?”

Millie giggles and catches Harry’s hand. She kisses his thumb. “I am a odd kid. But I am okay.”

Harry strokes over her round, chubby cheek with the same thumb, then looks over to Louis beside him and leans to kiss his shoulder. “Our odd, okay kid. I love you, bean.”

“I love you, too.” Millie relinquishes Harry’s hand and gives him a dimpled smile, then lifts her plate and starts licking it clean of cheese grease.

•••

Niall, Perrie, Safaa, and Waliyah come to the flat for lunch, but as it’s still a disaster, they just order in a pizza. There are still another 24 hours to go before his biopsy and sputum results come back, but since they’ve brought his fever down, Zayn is already doing much better. He’ll probably be released after a week, Perrie says, but he’ll need care for a while and if he doesn’t stop smoking, it will only take longer.

“Well, we’ll help however we can,” Harry promises, and Millie nods earnestly. 

They have a fairly quiet day to make up for the constant rush of the previous months and the horrible catastrophe of yesterday. Millie curls up for a jet-lagged nap on the sofa in the afternoon, and Louis runs out to Fountain Studios to do a few pre-taping errands and styling meetings.

When he comes home, Harry’s made fajitas for dinner, and they eat happily enough with the news that Zayn is finally awake enough and coherent enough to try using the spirometer, and his lung function – although clearly impeded by something – doesn’t seem permanently damaged.

After they’ve all curled up and watched _The Land Before Time VII_ , Harry carries Millie off to bed and tucks her in. Louis waits on the sofa, too bone-tired even to stand up and head for their own bedroom, but too awake to fall asleep on the couch.

Harry comes back and hops over the back of the sofa to curl up around Louis and nuzzle into his neck. 

“So,” he says. “I talked to our solicitor to find out about the adoption. And the good news is, it’s a step-parent adoption, since Millie’s biologically mine, which means more countries and stuff will recognize it if something were to happen on tour or summat someday. But the bad news is that it’s a really, really long process, actually. Like, it’ll take probably five or six months all told. I wish it could just be done now. Or I guess I wish we’d done it years ago.”

“It’s okay,” Louis murmurs, and tips his face to kiss Harry’s lips gently. “I don’t care how long it takes.”

Harry pulls back and knits his brows. “You do want to adopt her, right? I don’t want to make you or anything if you don’t.”

“I do,” Louis admits, and slides his fingers through Harry’s hair to scratch him just behind the ear in that way that makes him purr. “Thank you for – asking me.”

Harry smiles, his eyes heavy-lidded. “Of course. Just erm, what we need to do is get permission from the council, and that means I have to ask Clare to sign this form that would give you parental rights on Millie, which that’s gonna take a while to process after she signs it, and then the council has to review like, our home and all, which is good that we’ll have a nice new house and everything I guess, and then after that we can do the adoption process. It’s really tedious.”

“That is tedious,” Louis sighs. “D’you think that time she hit her head will be against us?”

“Maybe,” Harry says darkly. “But the fact that there’s a whole new child-protective law in her honor might help? I mean, I guess it shows we care.”

“Or that we put her in unsafe situations enough that they had to make a whole law about it,” Louis points out flatly. 

“Oh. Right,” Harry sighs. “Well, I guess Clare is the first step. I’ll ring her tomorrow and see if she’d be willing to meet me to sign the form over the weekend when we’re at my mum’s. It’s really a short paper; I downloaded it.”

Louis smiles. “Alright. I mean, I’ll do whatever we have to do. I want to make a nice little home for you and me and Mills and Bertram and Reginald and Pooper-Scooper.”

Harry groans and drops his head onto Louis’ shoulder while Louis laughs, only stopping when Harry bites him a little harder than strictly friendly.

They delay their trip up to Holmes Chapel for a day because Zayn is finally moved from intensive care into a regular hospital room, and Millie is allowed to visit. She hovers near the doorway, nervous at the sight of Zayn so skinny and pale and hooked up to an IV, but he smiles at her and croaks, 

“Acchi… I am so sorry I scared you. Will you ever forgive me?”

And Millie rushes forward with a dry sob to clamber up onto Zayn’s bed and hug him, her face buried in his sunken chest. Harry and Louis take Perrie down to the cafeteria for teas and dry, crumbly, terrible cake, to leave Millie and Zayn alone for their reunion.

Harry and Louis are both jittery with nerves the whole ride up to Holmes Chapel. It’s stupid, Harry thinks; Clare’s already promised to sign and there’s no reason she wouldn’t, since she’s never wanted to be Millie’s mother and Louis’ been her parent almost as long as she’s been alive. But _really_ doing this, _really_ starting the process of making their family official – it feels big.

Bigger even than making the X Factor live shows. Bigger than a world tour. But small enough to be just about the size of a little bean in her carseat behind the passenger’s side, singing Lucy Spraggan at the top of her voice as they roll up the M6.

Gemma and Eleanor, Anne and Robin, and all of the Tomlinson ladies are waiting for them outside the Styles’ Holmes Chapel house, but Millie runs right past all of them and through the blue front door, shouting, “Bertram! My baby! I am home for you!”

They all laugh, and they sit outside in the garden with beers and squash and tea while Millie happily plays with Dusty and the twins. They catch up, and they give everyone a progress report on Zayn after Niall texts. They show around photos of the house they’ll be moving into within a week, and everyone _ooh_ s and _ahh_ s and Jay and Anne get weepy.

Dusty disappears into the shrubbery to get away from Millie, and Robin calls Millie’s attention to a present they’ve bought her as a housewarming gift: a new green bicycle with a basket and streamers and training wheels and shiny clackers on the rims. Millie screeches and runs around in a circle until she falls down dizzy, then insists that Louis teach her how to ride it around on the little patio out back. 

At half-noon, Eleanor taps Harry on the shoulder and stands. “We should go.”

Harry swallows and nods. Eleanor has agreed to be the witness for Clare’s signing of the parental rights agreement form, since she’s not blood-related to anyone involved. “Yeah.”

Eleanor massages Harry’s shoulder consolingly. “It will go wonderfully, Harry. There’s no reason to be nervous. And I’ll sit at the next table over until you need me. And if you want me to jump over and knock her out with ninja moves or something, we can have a secret signal. If you scratch your ear three times, you know, something like that.”

Harry laughs and hugs her. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good to me.”

Eleanor smiles at him, then bends to kiss Gemma. “Be back shortly. What was it you wanted me to bring you?”

“Ha kau,” Gemma says in the same voice as Harry mimicking her. Gemma narrows her eyes at Harry and sticks out her tongue, and he pulls a face right back.

He takes another deep breath and exhales slowly. Then Harry gently kisses Louis on the mouth and stands, his knees creaking. “I’ll be back in an hour. It probably won’t even be that long.”

Louis nods and quickly steadies Millie on the little bicycle, his hands spanning her waist. “Don’t forget us, now.”

Harry shakes his head. “Idiot.”

Harry and Eleanor head up the street, and just outside the Fortune City’s door, Eleanor gives him another hug and murmurs, “Don’t be so nervous. You and Louis are perfect parents and everyone knows it. It’s all just a formality.” She pulls back and winks. “And remember: scratch your ear three times and we can just Kill Bill the entire bureaucracy.”

Harry smiles, pushes open the doors, and says over his shoulder, “Thanks.”

When he walks inside, it’s like being hit with a sledgehammer of remembering life before Louis – just the sight and sound and smell, the tinkling of the water into the luck fountain and the scent of frying scallops hitting the wok. Clare sits at one of the booths near the far wall, and she half-stands to wave at him as they enter.

Harry smiles and waves back, starting over, and true to her word, Eleanor slides into the next booth behind and pulls out her iPad to scroll through a book. She and Gemma are both working on their PhDs now, chemistry and International Politics.

“Hiya,” Clare greets Harry – it’s in that tone of voice that inflects long and twanging and is only used for people who you haven’t seen in a year by choice and who you know, for better or worse, you will never see again. She kisses his cheeks and gives him a hug that’s all shoulders. 

Harry grins graciously at her and gestures to the dark-lacquered booth. “Hello, Clare. You look great.”

“Thanks,” Clare says, sliding into her seat. Harry follows in the seat across. “You look great, too. But of course literally everyone on earth knows that, world traveler and all.”

“Oh, go on,” Harry jokes, one cheek dimpling. He opens his menu and glances down at the first page before he can feel Clare’s eyes settled on him and he looks up, the tendons in his knuckles all flexing a bit. 

It’s just that it’s all _strange_ , being back here with Clare on a rainy afternoon. He feels as though he should have tethered his bicycle to her car’s roof. It’s strange to be back here and know that Louis is down the road at his mum’s house with their daughter. The daughter that’s really his and _Clare’s_ , really belongs to the woman sitting across from him… whom he doesn’t even know.

So Millie doesn’t belong to her. Emily did, maybe. Back when Harry lived here and had a bicycle to tether to her car roof. But Millie has never been Clare’s, and has been Louis’ as long as Harry’s known him. And this is _right_. Knowing that makes Harry’s nerves fly out the window.

“Are you not going to eat?” Harry asks. “We don’t have to, if you need to go. Or want to go.”

Clare smiles and blinks twice. “I just know what I’m going to get. Don’t need to look at the menu anymore. Plus it’s all a bit strange, sitting here across from _Harry Styles_ from _One Direction_ , innit?”

Harry shakes his head, chuckling, and looks down at the menu again. “I think you of _all_ people should be over finding anything about me to be impressive.”

“I didn’t say it was impressive,” Clare says lightly, a grin in her voice and on her lips, as she kicks his ankle under the table. Harry laughs back and with that, knows exactly what he wants to eat. He closes his menu and slides it to the edge of the table so that eventually, maybe, their waiter will see.

“How have you been, Clare?” Harry asks softly. “It’s been – really a long time, since we actually talked. I was a kid. You were a kid. God, you were younger then than I am now. That’s weird.”

“I’ve been really good,” Clare tells him. She holds out her left hand and a diamond catches the light. “I’m engaged, so. Really good.”

“Congratulations,” Harry says warmly. He means it. He takes her hand gently just to look at the ring. It’s a modest cut, set with tiny sapphires on both sides, and Harry can tell that the diamond isn’t the highest grade. But it’s lovely and looks like an heirloom, and really, he can tell that it’s exactly what Clare would have wanted. “Do I know him?”

Clare makes a sound that’s not quite a laugh and nods very slowly as she takes her hand back. “You do. It’s Alistair.”

“Are you shitting me?” Harry asks, jaw slack. “After _all_ that, he took you back? I mean, not that he shouldn’t’ve, of course, just – ”

“It took a long time,” Clare says. “Like, years. But it’s been a long time, eh? And it’s a small village. I was always really his. He knows that.”

“You were,” Harry agrees, and it’s soft and affectionate and _true_. “I’m happy for you both. Pass on my congratulations to him, yeah?”

“I will,” Clare says. She rests her elbow on the table and her chin against her wrist. “And you? Are you and Louis – you know, getting whatever it is gay people get instead of married?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. We’re really young still and it’s – don’t really see the point, I guess.”

Clare studies his face with keen, narrowed eyes and her bottom lip just barely pursed. She brushes her pastel-pink fringe out of her eyes and cocks her head before she asks, “But you’re genuinely happy together?”

Harry smiles with his lips closed, but his eyes are warm. “Yeah, we’re happy. I’m really happy.”

“Oh, Harry,” Clare says fondly. “I’m glad.” She hesitates. “Couldn’t you have figured out you were gay _before_ you knocked me up as a teenager?”

“No,” Harry says honestly. This time, he looks Clare right in the eye. “I don’t think I could’ve. I had to know – a lot more about life first, I think. How to trust someone.”

Clare reaches across the table and pats Harry’s hand. She gives his fingers a light squeeze and her hands are soft. They don’t feel like the hands Harry had remembered, but Clare isn’t the girl he’d known. Harry himself is a man that Clare had never met, but it strikes him that he’s _so glad of it_. Harry Styles is, at twenty-one years old, successful and self-assured and _happy_. He’s a dad. And he’s in love. Harry at sixteen had been –

Well, he’d been a little shit, if he were being honest.

Their waiter finally makes his way around and brings Clare a Diet Coke before filling Harry’s water glass. Harry orders a dim sum combination and spicy Szechuan beef, and puts in a bid to get some ha kau and duck with plum sauce as takeaway at the end of his meal so that Gemma and Louis, respectively, don’t give him big, sad, basset-hound eyes.

He doesn’t take Clare’s order before he walks away.

“Well, that was rude,” Harry remarks, brow furrowed.

Clare laughs. “Harry, they know my order as well as I do. And – did you really not recognize him?”

“No?” Harry asks. “Should I have?”

“That’s Haydn,” Clare says incredulously. “God, you really do forget the little people once you’re a big popstar, innit?”

Harry’s jaw drops. “ _That’s Haydn_?” His head whips around to find their waiter standing at the bar filling glasses. “D’you think he recognized _me_? Shit, he’s gonna spit in my food for sure.”

Clare laughs. “He’s over it all, Harry, since Alistair and I got back together. But yeah, he might spit in your food. And of course he recognized you, Harry. Local hero and all.”

“Aw, fuck,” Harry groans, and his forehead hits the tabletop with a thump.

After that, things seem easy – but then, socializing with strangers is always easy for Harry. Clare never asks about Millie, but Harry mentions her a little anyway, because he can’t not. She’s his life. He talks about travel and what China is _really_ like; _and_ , he tells Clare, _I must not have gone to the real Fortune City, because nothing in China looked anything like this…_. His _ha kau_ is just as good as he’d always remembered, but the Szechuan beef is not. 

They still have their music taste in common.

After Harry’s paid the check and his little white takeaway boxes for Gemma and Louis are soaking grease on the table, Eleanor slides into their booth to shake Clare’s hand, and Harry pushes the papers across the table. Clare links her left hand with his while she signs them, and when he’s folding them into his case afterward, she smiles. Eleanor kneads Harry’s shoulder in gentle congratulations.

“It was good to see you, Harry,” Clare says, and she’s telling the truth.

“It was good to see you, too.” Harry says. “Take care of yourself, Clare.”

“Yeah,” Clare says. “Don’t be a stranger.”

That time, she’s lying and they both know it. But that’s okay. Harry kisses her cheek again as he takes his takeaway boxes and stands to leave; she pats his face and blinks pink fringe out of her eyes.

Up two lots from The Fortune City, just before his mother’s house comes into view, there’s a euphoric shout of “Look at me, Daddy! I’m riding a _two-wheeler_!”

Harry looks up at Millie pedaling towards him with her curls peeking out from beneath her bright blue helmet, knees churning like she’s a miniature cyclone, and Louis chases along behind her with a broad, white grin. Harry sets his takeaway down right on the sidewalk and scoops her off the bicycle with a holler, spinning her in the air. Louis catches the bike before it tips over onto the food. He rights it, then joins in the hug.

“Why did you stop me?” Millie asks indignantly, squishing Harry’s face with her palms so that his lips puff out. “I was riding a _two-wheeler_.”

“I know you were,” Harry says. “I was just so proud I had to hug you _right now_.”

“Well, thank you,” Millie says primly. “Mup helped. I can’t get going without Mup.”

Harry smiles as best he can around his squished face. “Me, neither.”

[](http://statcounter.com/free-web-stats/)


	30. Chapter 30

Zayn is due to be let out of the hospital in July, after he’s recovered from the pneumonia enough to have “normal” lung function again; the surgical extraction of a single, large-cell, squamous nodule from his right lung… and a few setbacks where he’d been discovered sneaking a smoke on the hospital roof, let outside by starstruck orderlies or candy-stripers. Perrie gives him an ultimatum, because _I can’t be with someone who doesn’t want to take care of himself for everyone who loves him_ , so Zayn asks Millie to do the honor of flushing all of his cigarettes again. She does, gleefully. 

But she glares at him askance on her way out of the room; Millie detaches her hand from Harry’s, and skitters off under his hospital bed, where she emerges with another two packs and a pipe that he’d hidden in his shoe.

“I see your game, mister,” she says haughtily, marching back into the bathroom. “I know all the hiding places in the world.”

Zayn groans, looking up at Harry expecting amusement in his eyes, but Harry’s face is almost murderous as he leans in to Zayn’s ear and hisses, _If you think you can just die and break her heart and not have me piss on your grave every fucking day for the rest of forever, you’ve got another thing coming_.

Zayn has the decency to look chastened. “I mean, I do want to quit. It’s just really hard. I’ve been smoking since I was like, ten.”

“Well,” Harry says, “Then look at Millie’s little face and imagine her smoking in five years and if that doesn’t make you want to punch yourself in the nuts, then I’ll gladly do it for you.”

Millie gallops out of the bathroom, shaking water off her hands. “The big spoon made a ka-chunka-chunka noise going down.”

“Did you actually flush the pipe?” Zayn asks, his eyebrows raised. His voice is deeper now than it was before, and raspier. That should go away in time, but he may never sound exactly the same. Once he’s able to sing again, they’ll figure out One Direction’s new style. “That was kind of expensive.”

“Not as expensive as a new Zayn,” Millie says sagely, and jumps onto his bed to pet his face. 

He hugs her close and gives her a little shimmy. “You’re right. I am a hot commodity. Worth at least twice that thing.”

Millie smiles beatifically and fusses with Zayn’s hair where it flops over his forehead. Then she pats his cheek and says, “Okay. I need to go now. The clock says a eleven, and I have to go see Joan when it is a twelve.” She holds her arms out for Harry to pluck her down from the bed. “I not can be late to see Joan.”

“That’s right,” Harry agrees, and pats her hair. “And after we’re finished with her, we’re going get lunch with Mup and take him to work, and you can see Cazza.”

“Whoopie-doo!” Millie cheers, dancing a little jig. “I love lunch and Muppie and Cazza!”

“I know.” Harry gets his ID back from the nurse at reception and lifts Millie onto his hip for the elevator ride down to the car park. He chivvies her into the car and she scrambles into her seat, demurely fixing her skirt over her knees. “C’mon, buckle up.”

“Yes,” Millie agrees, “Buckle up for safety.”

“That’s right. You’re very full of catchphrases since starting playgroup,” Harry comments, closing Millie’s car door and sliding around to his own. The ride to their caseworker’s office is shorter from the hospital than from their new house out in Kensington and Chelsea, where Millie will be starting at Glendower Prep come September, but traffic is always terrible around the lunch hour. He’s looking forward to the end of their biweekly meetings with Joan, their borough caseworker, so that they can move forward into the actual _adoption_ phase. Harry isn’t sure whether the red tape is because they’re young or because they’re famous or because they’re both men, but he just wants it to be sorted.

Millie shrugs sheepishly at him in the rearview mirror. “I like helping everyone be safe.”

Harry smiles back at her as he idles at a turn. “That’s a good thing to like.”

They meet Louis outside the doors of Joan’s office, and Millie reaches her arms up for a big hug and a kiss. They haven’t seen Louis in two days, as he’s been off in Cardiff, filming auditions with Caroline. They’re back at the studio for the rest of the week, though, to film spoof spots for commercials and online extras. Millie is going to star in one, using a green screen to play an auditioning girl group all by herself. She’s a little overexcited about it.

“Hiya, kiddo,” Louis hums, holding her. “How are you?”

“I am better now,” Millie says, and kisses his cheek. “Also, though, I am hungry! Also though, I think Poopie is mad at me.”

“Probably because you named her Pooper-Scooper,” Louis suggests. “Why’d’you think she’s mad at you?”

Harry holds open the door as Millie launches into a detailed account of the way their new fat rescue cat was staring at her this morning while she played with Reginald. She keeps talking even after Louis’ set her down and they’re climbing the flight of stairs up to Joan’s office, Harry and Louis each holding one of Millie’s hands. They assume that they’re being assessed with pretty glowing reviews, but it’s hard to tell – it’s Joan’s job not to let on what she’s thinking too much, after all, and they _are_ young and famous and gay and, frankly, Millie _has_ been in the news a lot in her young life for not-so-savory reasons. But she’s always clean and well-groomed and wearing new clothes that fit her well, and she eats enough to have a round little gut but gets lots of exercise with her Minis dance classes at Danielle’s sister’s studio, and they live in a huge, well-financed house with a normal amount of pets. And she’s loved dearly. 

Harry hopes that counts in their favor.

Millie grins when the door to Joan’s office opens, and she trills a _Hi, Joanie-Joan!_ as she heads straight for the big bucket of Legos.

Joan smiles and stands to shake Harry- and Louis’ hands before crossing to close her door. “Hello, Millie. How are you today?”

“I am well,” Millie says. She fishes out a diagram and starts to stack blocks, her tongue pressed between her teeth. “I am building a hello-copter. How are you?”

“I’m well. What did you do this week?” Joan asks, and settles into her chair to take notes on Millie’s account of the week. She asks questions in all the right places about Millie’s new playgroup and Zayn’s health, and Millie’s eyes light up as she talks about getting to go out for pedicures with Perrie and the rest of Little Mix. She takes off her shoes and wiggles her purple-painted toes.

“They look nice for my Xtra Factor,” Millie explains, and struggles to stuff her foot back into the shoe. Louis swoops down to help her, and Harry can feel the nerves rolling off of him in waves even though, really, the hardest part is over – Clare’s already signed over Parental Rights, all they’re waiting for is a recommendation on full, legal guardianship.

“Are you working today?” Joan asks. “When you work, who stays with you?”

“My dad and mup,” Millie says. “And sometimes other people, too, like Danielle or Liam, but today they are not because her ankles is swollen.”

“I see,” Joan says. “How often do you work, Millie?”

“When I want to.” Millie shrugs, and pokes at Louis’ elbow. “Rotor, please!”

Louis smiles at her and hands her the Lego rotor for the spinning top of her helicopter. Joan marks something on her clipboard and Harry swallows, compulsively fixing his hair.

“Millie, what do you think is more important, working or going to school?”

“For grown-ups, working, and for kids, school,” Millie says. “My new school has all vegetable-ann lunches. That is good for me, because of my religion.”

“Your religion?” Joan asks. “What’s your religion?”

“I like animals,” Millie says, and snaps the rotor into place. “So I does not eat animals I don’t see lots of. Like Zayn. My daddy stopped, too, because I asked him. Mup did not. He likes bacon.”

“I see,” Joan says, but she smiles gently at Millie this time as she writes another note. Harry meets Louis’ eyes over her shoulder and winks, mouthing _I love you_ as Millie chatters about her favorite foods.

Afterwards, Millie begs for a pizza lunch, and Harry agrees. Louis follows behind them in his own car, and they all eat together before transferring Millie’s carseat to the Porsche so Louis can take Millie over to Fountain until dinnertime. Harry stops into a shop on his way home and, arms laden with bags, is accosted by paparazzi taking the Millie-free opportunity to pepper him with rumors that he will be Liam’s guest for Judge’s Houses, concerns about Zayn’s voice, and questions about Harry’s opinion on the consultation to allow same-sex marriage as well as civil partnership in the UK.

He ignores all of them and just shoulders his way back to the car. Just before he slides into the driver’s seat, he gives the cameras a big, dimpled smile and says, “Sorry, have to get back or the milk will go. Bit hot today, innit?”

Harry lets Reginald out into the fenced-in back garden when he gets home, and the stupid cat twines herself around his legs as he starts puttering around the kitchen, inclined to make a curry. It’s a very different sort of life than being on tour, but Harry is _happy_. 

It’s weird to think that five years ago on this day, he went to boot camp just across town. It’s weirder to think that he only met Louis then, and now he’s cooking them curry chicken and rice in the kitchen of a house they own together with a joint mortgage and a garden and an old cat and a tiny puppy and a creepy chameleon that really likes being red. 

And Millie. Louis gallops through the front door just before seven o’clock with Millie riding his shoulders piggyback.

“Hi, Daddy!” she chirps. “It smells nice! Where is Reggie and Poopie?”

“Somewhere,” Harry answers. “Come eat dinner first and then you can play with them before bed.”

Louis lets Millie down from his back and pats her head. “Go wash your hands.”

Millie trots off and Louis sidles into the kitchen to wrap his arms around Harry’s waist and tilt his face up for a kiss. 

Harry smiles and slips his hands into Louis’ back pockets for a covert grope of Louis’ full, round arse while Millie is still out of the room, and he nuzzles Louis’ nose with his own between little, soft kisses. “Hey, you.”

“Hey, yourself,” Louis murmurs. “You’re snuggly today.”

“D’you know, I realized that it’s five years today since we met.” Harry smiles. “Do you even remember that? It was kind of a whirlwind week.”

“Of course I remember,” Louis says, sounding affronted. “Best chance meeting in a men’s room I’ve ever had. And that’s saying something, actually.”

Harry groans and gives Louis’ rear a swat as he pulls away from the embrace and turns back to the stove. “I hate you, you’re the worst, basically.”

“You love me,” Louis says confidently, moving to the cabinets to take down plates and bowls for the table. “I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

Millie barrels into the kitchen, hot on the heels of their fleeing cat and chased by their overeager puppy, and she collides with Harry’s legs in a clobbering hug.

“Alright, well, second-best,” Louis amends. “Bean, leave the cat alone. Come help me with spoons and forks.”

•••

“Daddy, _I_ want to go to the castle, too,” Millie whines, patting Harry’s cheek. “Why do I not get to sleep in the big castle?”

“Because it’ll be boring,” Harry explains for the hundredth time. “Liam and Mup and I are _working_ there.”

“I can work,” Millie offers earnestly. “Gimme a micorrphone.”

“No, bean, I’m sorry,” Harry apologizes. “But you get to sleep over with Danielle at Niall’s house, that’ll be fun, right?”

Millie frowns and curls up in a little ball on the floor, grumbling. Harry rumples her hair before kissing the top of her head, and he murmurs that he and Muppie will be back in one week, after they’ve finished all of their filming for Liam’s Judge’s Houses. He has the Groups category this year, and he’s taken them all to Ashford Castle in County Galway. Since Danielle is in her ninth month of pregnancy, she and Liam didn’t want to be apart; Niall offered up the guest room in his new Mullingar property for Millie and Danielle to stay. 

Danielle pads into the kitchen, rubbing her belly and tensing her face. With multiple babies, she’s been getting soft, false contractions every time she sits for longer than half an hour, and the trip out to Ireland was sort of killer. 

“Hi, Pretty,” Danielle coos. “I want some ice cream. Do you want to share some ice cream with me?”

“No,” Millie says petulantly, even as she stands up and hops over. “I want to stay with my daddy and my muppie in the big castle.”

Danielle smiles down at Millie even though her pinched eyes. She keeps one hand rested on her stomach even as she gets a carton of Rocky Road out of the freezer. “I know. The babies and I wish we could be there with Liam, too.”

Millie’s face brightens and she puts her hand over Danielle’s stomach. “Hi, babies. We’re gonna eat ice cream. Do you like ice cream?”

“Ice cream?” Niall asks, coming up behind them into the kitchen. “I like ice cream. Spoons are in the third drawer.”

They eat ice cream for dinner, and Millie reads aloud from her ZooFax about kinkajous and cacomistles until it’s time for her to put her pajamas on and go to sleep. Then she begs Niall to make her an egg on toast before she retreats to her room, and Danielle admits she’s a bit peckish, too, so they all eat a breakfast-for-dinner at nine o’clock in the evening.

Westward at Ashford Castle, all of the Groups except one arrived on time and checked in with Louis and Caroline to film their talking heads for the Xtra Factor before meeting Liam and Harry. No one is surprised that Harry’s his chosen guest, since it’d been rumored for months, but they all seem pleased to see him anyway. The acts are all corralled into their shared rooms fairly immediately by the crew, but Harry, Louis, Caroline, and Liam have a full run of the enormous castle and grounds. 

“This suite has a _sherry decanter_ ,” Louis remarks to Harry, picking it up. “And a safe deposit box. Why would you need a safe deposit box in your hotel room?”

“To store your expensive sherry before you decant it,” Harry answers. “Silly question. Now come over here and have sex with me. I want to take advantage of every night away.”

Louis tosses his hair and bounces down on the mattress. “Fine. I suppose I can suffer through looking at your nice little body and having you touch me with your gross elegant hands and give me horrifying orgasms and such.”

Harry shakes his head, but leans over to kiss Louis, teasingly pressing his lips over the corners of his mouth and his nose and chin until Louis finally makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat and threads his fingers into Harry’s curls to pull him down for a proper kiss. He runs his blunt fingernails over Harry’s scalp to scratch behind his ears in the way that always makes Harry shiver and melt, and Harry smiles against Louis’ mouth.

Harry spends a long time kissing and licking and biting his way down Louis’ body, fingers touching and spanning and measuring him everywhere. When they were meeting the Groups earlier, Louis had muttered that they all looked like babies, and Harry whispered back that they were the same age as One Direction had been when they went to Spain. 

He doesn’t regret anything about his life, but Harry wishes he’d touched Louis like this back then, on the sunny beach. He doesn’t know what eighteen-year-old Louis’ body had felt like, how narrow his hips were, how tight his arse – and he isn’t going to make the same mistake again with twenty-three year old Louis. He touches the backs of Louis’ knees. He tickles the soft crescents of his sides with feather kisses. He sucks on Louis’ fingers to make Louis’ eyes go dark and needy, his cock straining up towards his belly in jealousy. He kitten-licks at the pulled-tight head of Louis’ cock and breathes deep as he presses his nose into the soft tangle of hair at the base so he can lick at Louis’ balls before he squirms away.

“Still not into it?” Harry asks, laughing, as he rubs a hand over Louis’ belly.

“I just don’t know why _you_ like it so much.” Louis blushes. “There’s _teeth_ in a mouth. And those are my _balls_.” Then he pauses and tilts his head: “And I’m totally naked here while you’re wearing absolutely all of your clothes. How very dare you. I feel cheap. Cheap and used.”

“Shut up,” Harry mutters fondly. He butterfly-kisses with the tip of his nose at the sharp bone of Louis’ hip. “D’you want me to get naked? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” Louis says decisively. “I pretty much always want you to get naked.”

Harry pauses where he’s unbuttoning his shirt and peeks at Louis from beneath his fringe. “Really, still?”

“Yes, stupid,” Louis says, and shifts his legs open greedily. “Now is not the time for a long talk about my overwhelming, monogamous love for you. Now is the time for you to fuck me so hard we break this thousand-year-old, haunted headboard and basically scar everyone in the castle for life.”

Harry grins, his eyes sparkling and cheeks dimpling. “I think I can do that.”

Louis comes quickly – almost embarrassingly quickly – once Harry is inside, pounding hard enough from behind that his hipbones cleave blue bruises into the pale skin of Louis’ arse. They both laugh fondly after the trembles subside, and Louis pounces on Harry, knocking his hand away from his cock so Louis can spread Harry’s thighs and lick him out, one slim hand stroking over Harry’s dick and the other slowly rubbing circles over Harry’s nipples.

Harry tugs at Louis’ hair, scrapes his fingernails over Louis’ shoulders, and whimpers as he comes. Louis licks every drop from Harry’s stomach, the soft sensation making his abs shudder.

Louis laughs and kisses Harry with a salty mouth. Harry breathlessly whimpers again and chases Louis’ lips as he pulls them back, begging more kisses. Louis settles down along the warm space of Harry’s body and, after pulling the blankets up to their waists, is happy to oblige.

They have to wake at 4:30 AM for hair and makeup before doing a sunrise shoot with Liam, running out on the Castle grounds and reminiscing about their own time at Judges’ Houses. 

“After all,” Liam says, “Some of these kids were only ten years old when we were on the show. They probably don’t even remember it.”

Millie rises early out at Niall’s house, too, and pads around disoriented for a few minutes looking for the bathroom. She digs her iPad out of the bottom of her blankets and curls up to read about electric-green plumed basilisks.

Danielle pads awkwardly into Millie’s room, rubbing her belly again with a frown. “Oh, I did hear you walking around, Pretty. I thought maybe it was a little ghost.”

“No, it was me,” Millie confirms. She sits up and cocks her head. “Is you and the babies okay?”

“Yeah,” Danielle says, in a breathy, unsure voice. “Just a little jumpy. I don’t think babies are meant to eat ice cream right before bed, do you?”

“I think everyone should eat ice cream before bedtime,” Millie says earnestly. She keeps staring at Danielle with round eyes before shucking off her blankets again and hopping out of bed. “Come along, Danielle. I will make you tea.”

“You can’t use the stove, sweetie,” Danielle points out, huffing a little as she follows Millie out into the hall.

“You will make the water hot,” Millie corrects her. “I will turn it to tea.”

Danielle drinks two cups of herbal mint tea that Millie’s meticulously brewed with teabags, but the crease between her eyebrows never smooths out.

The first day of judging is long and tedious. Of the six Groups, four had chosen to sing “What Makes You Beautiful,” and Harry is about ready to gouge his eyes out. It’s difficult to come up with unique, _kind_ , _constructive_ criticism for everyone, too, when all he wants to say is “you’re an over-28 rap duo, why are you doing this song?” and “Nope, no. Not ever. Nope. You’re Jedward again.”

“Liam,” he groans over lunch, “This is torture. Can’t we just do, like, half today and half tomorrow for mentoring? And then they can take a few months and get better. And we can judge again?”

Liam looks reproachful. “They’re not that bad. At least they’re not all singing in unison.”

Harry cracks half a smile. “I guess that’s true.”

“See?” Liam asks. “We can’t look for groups that are where we are now. We have to look for ones that are like, where we were. Oh, that’s a good quote. I should say that again later for the cameras.”

Even after lunch, Millie keeps hovering around Danielle, getting increasingly worried about the frown on Danielle’s face and how often she’s checking her watch.

“Danielle?” Millie finally asks, “Why are you looking for the time?” She points to the clock on Niall’s massive mantel. “It has a two and a eight. So it is less-than-three o’clock.”

Danielle smiles thinly. “I know, Pretty, thank you. I just need to check -- _ooh_ ,” Danielle exhales sharply, and Niall looks up from where he’s fiddling on a Nintendo DS with a look of his own concern, “I just need to check whether it’s time for the babies to get born.”

Millie’s hands fly up to cover her cheeks. “What time are the babies coming born? Three o’clock?”

Danielle tries to laugh, but it comes out as more of a grimace. “No -- _ah_ \-- not three o’clock, sweetie. They’re supposed to come… next week. After – Liam is home.”

“Dani, I don’t think that’s the plan anymore,” Niall says seriously, springing up from the couch. “Come on, sit down.”

She shakes her head in a bit of a panic. “I’d rather – not – I -- _oh_.”

Millie jumps from one foot to the other and points, her eyes very round. She points. “Danielle made a wee!”

“No, Mills, that’s not – okay, just erm, Millie, you run and get the suitcase from Danielle’s room, okay? I’m gonna call an ambulance,” Niall says, standing up. 

Millie hesitates, still jumping from foot to foot. “What is happening?”

“The babies want to come out, sweetie,” Danielle huffs. She sucks in a breath through her teeth and checks her watch again.

“Tell them no!” Millie cries. “Liam is not here!”

“I know, but I can’t tell them no.” Niall wraps a jumper around Danielle’s shoulders. “If they want to come out, then they’re going to.”

“Put them back in!” Millie urges. “Just swallow them again, like birds!”

“I – no, honey, that’s not -- _ah_ \-- can you get my suicase from the bedroom?” Danielle asks Millie, “Please? We have to go to hospital.”

“Are they sick?” Millie asks tremulously. “Like my Zayn?”

“No – just -- _ooph_. Babies like to get born in hospitals,” Danielle explains. “And after you get my case, can you ring Liam?”

“Yes!” Millie runs off. “I am helpful!”

Millie runs around putting everything she can fathom a baby needing into Danielle’s suitcase, including a few of her smaller stuffed animals that Harry let her bring along “so they wouldn’t get lonely.” When Niall calls for Millie to come out because they ambulance has arrived and they have to go, Millie drags the suitcase behind her and Niall heaves both it and her into the cab of the car. 

“I need to ring Liam!” Millie tells him, tugging at Niall’s shirt. “I need your mobile! I do not have Liam’s number. He did never give it to me. Rude.”

Niall laughs and gives Millie his phone before scrambling into the back of the transport so Danielle can squeeze his hand. Millie rings Liam, but he doesn’t answer, so instead, she rings Louis.

“Niall?” Louis whispers when he picks up, “Is something wrong? We’re shooting.”

“Muppie!” Millie shakes the phone a little in her excitement. “The babies is getting born right now! I have to ring Liam and tell him!”

“Oh, shit,” Louis says, “Sorry, bean. Erm – Liam’s judging right now, erm -- _shit_ \-- sorry! Shit! Sorry! Where are you, sweetie?”

“In a ambulance,” Millie reports. “In Ireland.”

“Well, yes, I knew you were in Ireland,” Louis says. “Erm, okay, little bean, I will tell Liam, okay? And he’ll ring you on Niall’s mobile, okay?”

“Okay!” Millie agrees. “Hurry! The babies will come over at three o’clock!”

She promptly hangs up on him, and Louis stares at his phone in something like shock for a minute before rushing off to tell the producers that Liam needs to stop filming and get to Galway. 

“No can do,” says Nigel. “Storm is moving in for the weekend and we want to get everything taped and ready to go by Thursday so the contestants can get home. We’re going to shoot through most of the night.”

“ _Crap_ ,” Louis whispers. “Alright, well, erm – can I at least go tell him that he’s becoming a father?”

Nigel looks at the time card. “After Turbo Shot are finished performing, go ahead.”

Louis rolls his eyes – it’s Harry all over again, or Rebecca not allowed to see her children – but dutifully waits. 

In Mullingar, the babies do not wait. Danielle’s contractions were already at the seven-minute mark when the ambulance arrived, so she’s at the cusp of hitting second-stage labor when they’re rushing her into the hospital room. Millie shrieks that she wants to go with Danielle and be _helpful_ , but she’s too young to be allowed and Niall’s pretty sure it would haunt her every waking moment for the rest of her life, anyway, so they sit in the waiting room, BBMing details back and forth to Zayn, Eleanor, and Louis-to-tell-Liam.

Liam has sort of lost it. He’s sitting under the table with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and Harry is knelt across from him, trying to lure him out so they can finish taping and get to Mullingar. 

“But it was what I planned for! This messes up the plan! The plan, Harry!”

 

“Your plan was to have a kid in the middle of being on the X-Factor?”

“Next week!” Liam mumbles, “The plan was next week! Oh, goodness, I am _missing the birth of my children to be on X Factor_. Who _does_ that?”

Harry stares at him stonily and raises his hand.

“Oh. Right. Well, _besides you_?”

It’s just shy of midnight, and Harry and Louis are hovering around Liam – Louis is sliding him a fresh cup of strong, very sweet tea; Harry’s sitting on the floor at Liam’s feet with a hand on Liam’s ankle – when his phone rings.

 

“Hello?” Liam answers, croaking through a dry throat. 

 

“The babies are here!” Millie cheers on the other end, “I got to see them! One smells bad, but the other smells like nothing.”

 

Liam clutches the mobile and nods dumbly, not saying a word, so Louis grabs it and says, “I’m putting you on speaker, little bean, so we can all hear you.”

 

“Hi, Daddy and Muppie and Liam!” Millie crows. “I was helpful! Danielle letted me name the babies ‘cause I was helpful and Liam was not helpful because he is not here.”

 

“What did you name them?” Louis calls into the phone, squeezing Liam’s shoulders tight.

“I name the girl baby Martha,” says Millie, “And the boy baby is Archie.”

Liam coughs. “Those are good names, Millie. Is – can I see a picture? Is Danielle okay?”

“She is well,” Millie confirms. “But Niall fainted and he hit his head and he had to get a ice pack. But now we are all okay. And the babies are loud when they cry. Martha especially is loud. Oh, Niall says he will send you a picture now so I have to hang up. Bye!”

Tiny as they are, the twins look identical, even though they obviously aren’t. They have softly golden-brown skin and their eyes are screwed shut tight and Martha has the tiniest pink bow on her white hospital cap to tell the difference between them. They’re cuddled together in Danielle’s arms, and she’s beaming at the camera without any makeup on, and even Harry and Louis – much less Liam – think that she’s never looked more beautiful. Martha and Archie each have ten itty-bitty fingers and ten itty-bitty toes.

“Forty digits in all,” Louis tallies. “That’s a relief.” He kisses Liam on the cheek and Liam blushes a little, overwhelmed by everything. “Call your wife. Say hello to your babies. We’ll be in our room if you need us.”

Harry hugs Liam, too, and Liam gives Harry a squeeze. Then Louis wraps his arm around Harry’s waist, and they shut Liam’s suite door behind them as they exit and slip up the hall to their own room to give him privacy. 

Back in their room, Harry pulls Louis in to cuddle him close, his nose pressed into the top of Louis’ head. Louis lets his hands run over Harry’s back, gently massaging out the knots and kinks from sitting all day. 

“Our baby isn’t the baby anymore,” Harry says ruefully, but when Louis looks up, he’s smiling. “Circle of life.”

“Hakuna matata,” Louis agrees. “I’m just glad she named them both real names. I’d hate to know Liam’s son was named, like, Barf Bag, and it was our fault.”

Harry flicks Louis’ ear, then stretches so he can pull his t-shirt off and fling it into their laundry suitcase. Louis wolf-whistles lowly and Harry smiles over his shoulder. 

“Come on, let’s take a shower and call Bean on her mobile to say good night. I want to check on Niall, too, if he’s fainted. That’s not like him.”

They end up Skyping Millie on her iPad after they’re all clean and their wet hair is shaken out; Millie has a brown mustache on her upper lip and five mismatched barrettes in her hair, and she beams at them, waving with both hands.

“Hi, Daddy! Hi, Muppie! My brother give me hot cocoa!”

“I can see that,” Harry chuckles, “Make sure you wash your face before you sleep.”

“This?” Millie points to the mustache. “I am saving it for later.” Pale hands snake out onto the screen and tickle her tummy, and Millie shrieks happily as Niall shifts into the frame, cocoa mustache of his own. 

“Hey, lads,” Niall says. “Crazy day. How is Liam?”

“He seems okay,” Louis says. “I mean, I think he’s dead upset he wasn’t there, but he gets to see them in two days, anyway. Everyone still doing alright by you?”

“Oh, yeah,” Niall assures him, “I got a whale of a lump on the back of me head, but I’ll live.”

Harry threads his fingers through Louis’ hair at the nape of his neck. “Yeah, how’d that happen?”

Niall goes a little pale. “I wanted to see the babies. But I ended up seeing something I never wanted to see, and now I think I’m off women forever.”

Harry rolls his eyes and shakes his head even as Louis laughs, and Millie glances between them before choosing a reaction halfway between the two. (“Ouch!” Niall yelps. “She pinched me!”)

“You are being mean about our cousins,” Millie chastises him, and she taps his nose warningly with two fingers. “Don’t you be mean about them around me. That is not what families do, Irish mister!”

•••

Louis’ Parental Rights are granted the day that the new X Factor series begins airing, and by Lux’s birthday – the twins’ one-month – they’re well under way with adoption proceedings. Millie is having a ball at Glendower – even though she complains about having to learn French even though she’s already nearly fluent in Urdu and fairly proficient in Spanish – but she catches on quickly, and Harry is relieved every day that she just comes home _happy_ and full of bubbly stories about her day. It’s a mile ahead of punching a classmate in the face back at nursery, and that’s the best he can hope for.

For Wednesday assembly, Millie brings Bertram to class and gives a speech all about lizards and reptiles, and apparently it’s a big hit, because she bounces off the walls on Thursday as she tells Harry and Louis that her class is getting a pet gecko. 

“That’s great, bean,” Louis says, cutting up her chicken patty. “I bet your school friends are glad you brought Bertram to show them.”

“Yes,” Millie agrees, “I am their hero. Next week, I want to bring Martha and Archie so my class can get a _baby_!”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” Harry laughs. “But it’s a good thought.”

Millie pouts and scrunches up her face as she eats chicken and gravy with her fingers. Louis touches the back of her hand and raises an eyebrow, and Millie sighs as she straightens up and starts to use her fork.

Louis kisses the side of her head. “Good girl.”

“You’re all about _manners_ lately,” Millie grumps. “Why?”

“Because you’re getting older and you have to use a fork,” Louis says dryly. “And because – because we’re your parents, and that’s our job.”

Millie considers this, then smiles. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Louis mimics, and kisses her head again. Their assessment papers have just transferred hands from their social worker to the council adoption panel, according to Harry- and Louis’ solicitor. From here, it could be months, or just a matter of days, until Millie legally is shared by Harry and Louis.

“Milliebean,” Harry asks carefully, setting down his water glass, “If you could change your name to anything, what would it be?”

“Constantina!” Millie says immediately. “It’s the best name.”

“Erm – okay, erm – basically, that’s not what I meant,” Harry blusters as Louis snorts into his napkin. “Let’s try this again. Millie: if you want to, you’re allowed to make your name Emily Anne Tomlinson-Styles instead of just Emily Anne Styles. Would you want to do that?”

Millie tilts her head and bites her lips, looking back and forth between Harry and Louis. “Can I think about it?”

“Sure,” Harry and Louis say together. Louis rubs her hand to show her he doesn’t mind. “As long as you want.”

“I just think it’s a lot of names,” Millie says apologetically. “Bee at school, Millie at home, Acchi with Zayn, Pretty with Danielle, I just have a lot of names. I need to think about if I can remember more names. I don’t know who is a Emily Anne.”

“Well… we could change Emily to Bee, if you want,” Harry offers. “Bee Anne Tomlinson-Styles?”

Millie nods and spears more chicken on her fork. “I will think about it for two nights and three days, and then I will tell you.”

Harry chuckles and reaches across the table to run his thumb over her cheek. “Okay.”

The next day, it’s Zayn’s job to pick Millie up from school, as Harry is at a table reading for an off-West End production of _Ten Out of Ten_ and Louis is shooting tedious footage with Caroline. 

“Hi, my Zayn!” Millie yells, running down the school steps in her purple-and-gray uniform, one sock droopy and her scarf flying behind her. She throws her arms around his neck and sniffs him. “You are not smell like smoke. Good!”

“That’s right,” Zayn agrees. “I’m still quit. Thanks to you.”

Millie beams up at him with all of her teeth. “Can we get waffles with sparkles?”

“You mean sprinkles?” Zayn asks. “Sure. We can get waffles.”

“Whoopie-doo!” Millie cheers. She laces her fingers with his and skips down the walk. The eyes of most of her schoolmates – of all ages, as well as their mothers – follow them, but everyone had been admonished at the first school assembly not to bother Millie or her family for photos or autographs. All the same, Millie scratches her nose and looks up at Zayn. “Oh! I forgot. Can you sign one hundred papers for me to give everybody?”

“Erm,” Zayn hedges. “Sure. But not today.”

“Okay,” Millie agrees. “Zayn, I got a problem.”

“What’s your problem, Acchi?” He holds the door open for her as they walk into Wafflemeister, just a block from the school. “Let’s see if I can help.”

“Well,” Millie starts, and pushes her curls out of her face, “I gotta choose if I want to change my name.”

“Oh, yes,” Zayn agrees. “I heard about that. Why is that a problem? What are you thinking?”

Millie pauses to order a waffle with milk chocolate fudge, marshmallows, raspberries, and cinnamon, and Zayn wrinkles his nose but pays anyway. 

“I just don’t know what to do,” Millie explains. “I don’t understand why my name is to change.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to if you don’t want,” Zayn assures her. “But you know your mup is adopting you, right? So if you wanted to, you could have his last name be your middle name. After Anne. That’s all.”

“I do not understand what adoption is,” Millie admits. “Because we already lives in the same house and he is already my mup. So what is adoption do?”

Zayn hums and steals some of her waffle. “If you get hurt or ill and go to hospital, then your Mup can come in the room with you. That’s really the main thing.”

Millie thinks about this and nods. There’s a smear of chocolate all across her face, and Zayn swipes it off gently with his thumb. “When Danielle had the babies, I could not go in the room. Do I need to adopt Martha and Archie?”

“No, sweetie, you’re not one of their parents,” Zayn laughs. “Liam and Danielle are their parents.”

“Oh. So Liam has to adopt them?” 

“No – it – Liam is their dad, like your daddy is your dad, and Danielle is their mum, so they don’t have to adopt them. But your mup is – has to adopt you. It’s complicated.”

Millie frowns and purses her lips before continuing to destroy her waffle. That night, after she and Harry have a Thai takeaway dinner and she’s taken her bath, Louis gets home from the studio and Millie zooms over, sticking close to him as he eats his cold leftover noodles. She follows him so closely from the kitchen to the living room that when he stops short, her nose bumps into his arm.

“Hey, little bean,” Louis coos, and lifts her up onto his hip. “What’s up?”

“You did not make me get born, did you,” Millie discerns, and her eyes are nervous and huge as she stares at Louis. She pats his face, rubbing at the prickle of his evening shadow. “So you have to adopt me.”

“That’s right,” Louis agrees. “But that does not mean that I love you any less. You know that, right?”

Millie nods. “But you said you were with my daddy when I got born, and you give me my name Millie.”

“I was, and I did,” Louis says. “Your mum called you Emily, but we didn’t think you would like the name Emily. So I called you Millie, and you liked it.”

“I do like it,” Millie confirms, and hugs hard onto his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, little bean,” Louis whispers. “But you don’t have to change anything in your name if you don’t want.”

The next morning, as Louis is exasperatedly sponging rogue egg yolk out of Millie’s ear, she looks up at Harry and Louis with round eyes. “I made a decision, even though it has been only two nights and _two_ days.”

“Okay,” Harry says. “What did you decide?”

“I want to make my name _Millie_ Anne Tomlinson Styles,” Millie declares. “Because I do not know my mum, and I do not need my name from her. But I know Muppie, and my Muppie loves me, and he name me Millie. But at school, I still will be Bee, because that is my name from me, and I know me, and I love me.”

Louis stops cleaning her ear, and Harry stops cutting up her fruit slices for her snack pack, and they both crouch down on either side of Millie to kiss her cheeks at the same time. She squeals with delighted giggles. 

“I think that sounds like a very good plan,” Harry agrees, and clears his throat. “You’re very smart, little bean.”

“I am smart,” Millie agrees. “I am smart and great.”

Louis barks a laugh and goes back to cleaning egg from her hair. “You are smart and great. And modest, too.”

“Yes, that, too!”

Louis kisses the side of her head. “If you’re so smart and modest and great, why can’t you eat without getting food in your ear yet?”

•••

Halfway between Lux’s birthday and Millie’s, just as the Live Shows for X Factor are due to start and Liam will have to go back to work full-time, leaving Danielle and the twins at home on their own, Millie’s adoption goes through. They call Glendower and pull Millie out for the day so they can all go down to the borough Town Hall to sign the forms and file for Millie’s change of name all together, and then they promise to take Millie to the zoo. This weekend, they’ll use the voucher Liam and Danielle bought her for Christmas, for her sleepover at the zoo camp – Harry and Louis will take her instead, to celebrate the formalized adoption, since Liam and Danielle are a bit busier than they had expected back in December.

Of course, Harry and Louis are both so excited and nervous that they can’t settle down the night before, filled to the brim with feelings about new horizons rising in their shared life, that they end up sleeping through their first two alarms. They only wake when Millie cannonballs into their bed, screeching _the clock has a nine and I am not eaten yet! I am dying of hungry!_

“Oh, shit,” Harry groans, stumbling out of bed in his pants. Millie giggles and covers her eyes. “Some responsible parents we are; god.”

“Ugh,” Louis grumbles. “You – do breakfast. Save the little bean. I’ll shower first.” He pats Millie’s rump so she’ll budge up off his bladder, and Millie scrambles off of the mattress to gallop along behind Harry, trailed by an overexcited Reginald yipping at her heels and blasé Pooper-Scooper pretending that she isn’t skulking along hoping for some wet food.

Louis warms at the sight of them all heading down the hall like a parade, and he takes a moment to sit back and cover his mouth with both hands, trying to tamper his growing grin. This is his family.

This is his life. 

He sings old Katy Perry at the top of his lungs in the shower, and dresses right away so the steam can escape before Harry has his turn – Harry irrationally hates when the mirror is wet; Louis doesn’t understand it. But he loves Harry, so he’ll make do. He keeps humming as he lathers his face for a shave.

A pair of big green eyes pop up, just barely peeping over the countertop, at Louis’ elbow and he swears loudly as he nearly slices through his jugular (or so he frets) and then swears again, softly, when he realizes he swore.

Millie looks thoroughly unperturbed. “Mup, what are you doing with the toothpaste? It is not time to play.”

Louis chuckles and rinses out his razor. “It’s not toothpaste, Silly Millie. It’s shaving cream. I’m shaving.”

“Why?”

Louis strikes his most camp pose, hands on his hips and ducklips puffed out. “So I can look pretty.”

“You’re always look pretty,” Millie says earnestly. Then she frowns, a little crinkle forming between her brows, just like her father’s. “I do not shave.”

“That’s right, you don’t,” Louis agrees.

“But I am pretty,” Millie points out. “I am the prettiest girl in the world, besides Luxie and Auntie Lou and Martha and Danielle and Lottie and Fizz and Peebee and Daisy and Nicola and Ruth and Safaa and Waliyah and Doniya and Auntie Gemma and Eleanor and Perrie Lilmix and Cazza and Gramma Anne and Gramma Jay.”

“So you’re the prettiest girl besides all the other girls you know?” Louis asks, laughing.

“Well,” Millie says thoughtfully, “I am the _most_ prettiest.”

Louis taps her nose and dabs it with a puff of shaving cream, which makes Millie shriek. “That you are. The most prettiest girl in the world.”

Millie crosses her eyes and tries to look at the dollop of soap on her nose. “Lift me up,” she demands. “I want to see my shaving.”

Louis picks her up and settles her on the edge of the counter so she can see into the mirror. He keeps a hand to her back as he fumbles in his wallet, discarded on the top lid of the toilet even though Harry kept asserting that they really needed to stop leaving their money around wherever they felt like leaving it, because three times of embarrassing scrambling to pay for Chinese delivery was three times too many when their apartment was as large as it was, and pulls out an old hotel key card. 

“Here,” Louis says, “Hands off your face.”

Millie tilts her face up and lets Louis rub shaving cream onto her cheeks and chin. 

“Get my muttstash,” she says without moving her lips, and Louis chuckles.

“You don’t have a mustache,” he assures her. “And you don’t want to get shaving cream in your mouth, do you?”

“It looks like whip cream. For a _waffle_.”

“Well, it tastes like soap.”

“Ew!”

“Exactly,” Louis agrees, wrinkling his nose. “Okay, so, now to shave, take this – ” he hands her the key card. “And use it to scrape the shaving cream off your face. But be careful you don’t push too hard, you don’t want your face to pink up.” 

Millie hesitates, so Louis takes up his razor again and runs it over his face, taking up prickles. “See?”

Millie nods and copies Louis, pose-for-pose, as he leans towards the mirror again and gets back to shaving, following the way he tilts his chin and cleaning her little card off under the faucet whenever he rinses his razor. She keeps watching Louis in the mirror until his face is clean. He offers her a Pingu washcloth and they both scrub up.

Louis offers his cheek to Millie. “Do I look pretty now?”

She kisses his cheek. “Yes. Take me down.”

Louis kisses her cheek back and lifts her down from the counter, where she immediately goes skittering off to find Harry. Louis smiles to himself as he rubs the matte aftershave lotion into his skin and sets about his routine wrestling the hair wax.

Millie gallops from one room to the next until she finds Harry in the kitchen, sitting at the kitchen table and scrolling through Twitter on his phone. Millie climbs up into his lap without any pretense and kisses his face.

“Good morning, Miss Millie,” Harry hums. He ruffles her hair. “We need to brush your hair, mademoiselle.”

“Later,” Millie says dismissively. “Do I look pretty?”

“You always look pretty. But you know that’s not the most important thing to be, right?”

Millie rolls her eyes. “Yes, Daddy, I knew that ‘cause I am smart, too. But I need to know if I’m extra-pretty today, ‘cause Mup teached me to shave.”

“He taught you to shave?”

Millie nods and squishes her cheeks together. “See?”

“Oh, yes,” Harry says. “There’s no beard on that face, that’s for sure.”

“Do you shave?”

“I do,” Harry confirms. “But not every day, like Mup.”

“He shaves every day and he never invited me?” Millie cries, sounding stricken, her green eyes the size of saucers. “How very rude of him!”

“Well, he usually does it while you’re eating your breakfast,” Harry explains. “And speaking of, you’re still running late. Hop for breakfast and tell me what you want.”

“Parkin cake,” Millie decides. “And five eggs over easy.”

Harry presses his lips together to hold in a laugh, wondering _where the fuck did she even get that idea_ and cocks his head. He swallows hard and manages to say, “We don’t have any Parkin cake, little bean,” before the laugh bubbles out.

Millie gives a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. I’ll have a Pot Noodle and two donuts.”

“How about… one egg, and some toast, but you can put Nutella on it?” Harry offers.

Millie looks up through her lashes. “And Yoursheer tea.”

“I don’t like when you drink tea,” Harry reminds her, tapping her nose. “It’ll make you short.”

“I’m already short!” Millie says, throwing up her hands as though her father is the most exasperating person she’s ever met. “Mup drinks Yoursheer tea, and Zayn, too.”

“They do, and they’re both short,” Harry says. “You can have warm milk with a _little_ tea, but you have to read me _Monkey Red, Monkey Blue_ later.”

“Okay,” Millie acquiesces.

“Okay,” Harry mimics, and kisses her head. “Budge up so I can make your egg.”

Millie scoots off Harry’s lap and gallops into the hall to find Louis again, and she confronts him as he comes out of his bedroom, snapping his braces into place.

“You shave every day and didn’t tell me,” she accuses, and points one menacing finger.

Louis wrinkles his nose. “Guilty.”

Millie shakes her finger. “That is very unfortunate.”

“What can I ever do to make it up to you?” Louis asks, scooping Millie up and tossing her in the air once. To her credit, she doesn’t even crack a smile.

“Well, get ready to bring me shaving every day, mister,” she says. “No more secrets for you.”

“Deal,” Louis agrees. “Now I think I hear your dad cooking breakfast, so we’d better get in there and eat. What’s he making today? Proper fry-up?”

“Eggs and toast,” Millie reports. “I wanted Parkin and a Pot Noodle. Or donuts. But he said no.”

“Well, maybe Gramma Jay can make you a Parkin when you go up to visit next weekend, okay?” Louis asks, knowing full well that Millie will have long forgotten about it by the time she goes North. 

“I’m visiting Gramma Jay?” Millie asks, one hand resting comfortably on Louis’ face as he carries her into the kitchen. Harry’s stood at the stove with a spatula in hand, one pan going with Louis’ fried and another working Millie’s scramble. His hair is still deliciously rumpled and the back of his t-shirt is rucked up so a fair portion of his electric green briefs are staring out over his bum, and Louis can’t help smiling as Millie chatters on something about Bonfire Night and spice cake because really, his life is fucking perfect. He comes up at Harry’s side and kisses his face just above where it dimples when Harry smiles, and he smiles then and turns to catch Louis’ lips on his. 

“Eggs are nearly ready,” Harry informs him. “I didn’t touch the kettle. I’ve got a pot on with Millie’s milk, though. She can have a quarter-cup of tea and the rest milk, Lou, not more. I want to get her out of the habit.”

“I’ve been drinking good, strong Yorkshire tea my whole life,” Louis boasts, “And we’d do well if she turns out as fabulous as me.”

“Quarter-cup,” Harry repeats as though Louis hadn’t spoken. “And can you put the toast in? It’s there; you just need to push the thingie.”

“Millie, do you want to push the toast-thingie?” Louis asks, and Millie nods enthusiastically. “Have at it!”

Millie pushes down the bar on the toaster just as her milk comes to a simmer and Louis’ egg white browns crisp at the outside, and Louis whirls Millie across the kitchen in a waltz towards the kettle as Harry deftly takes her milk off the stove and slides the eggs onto three plates; he reaches around Louis’ waist to take two plums from the bowl on top of the refrigerator and cuts them into thirds around the pit, two pieces for each, and ducks under Millie’s ballerina arm to set the plates on the table. The toast pops and Louis tosses him the slices in an arc across the kitchen so he can butter four and slather one with Nutella and cut it in triangles, and Millie clutches onto his leg while the kettle whistles and Louis sets tea brewing in two big mugs and one small, pink teacup. Louis trails one warm hand along the base of Harry’s spine as he crosses around the table, setting cups down at each place, and Harry helps Millie settle into her booster.

They only have ten minutes to eat, but no one minds.

•••  
•••

Millie’s fifth birthday falls on a Friday, so celebrations are postponed until the following Monday, after the rambunctious weekend of X Factor live shows has died down for a while. Any scandals that crop up tend to do so on Thursdays, not Mondays, so they feel safe taking a few days off to bundle into their jumpers and drive up to Holmes Chapel for a family birthday party: Harry, Louis, Zayn, Niall, and Liam, with Danielle and the twins and Perrie and Millie all at the bungalow. Millie insists on bringing Reginald along, too, and she quakes in her little carrier beside Millie the entire ride up North. Millie coos over the twins as always, fussing with their blankets and little hats to make sure that they’re warm enough, and Harry and Zayn sit with Danielle while the other boys try doggedly to teach Millie to play football out in the vast field beyond the house.

They give up after she sprawls flat on her back in the grass, Reginald licking her face.

Anne, Robin, GemmaAndEleanor, Jay, and all of the Tomlinson sisters trek out for dinner and cake, and they all eat spaghetti and samosas, because that’s what Millie wanted most. 

Anne brings out a massive chiffon cake with green glaze icing, and Millie claps her hands.

“That’s looks like guts on top!” she boasts. “Mmm! _Guts_.”

Louis shakes his head, his eyes sparkling, and twines his fingers with Harry’s. “She’s such an odd kid. _What_ have we unleashed on the world?”

Harry just lifts their clasped hands to his mouth and kisses Louis’ fingers gently. A thin, plain, black gold band rings the fourth finger of his left hand, and until Louis – until _this place_ , this bungalow, five years before – Harry hadn’t realized how immense that was, the enormity of it. He never told anyone, but he had a cheap, tiny crackerjack wedding ring hidden in the sock drawer of his Holmes Chapel bedroom that he had once, a long time ago now, planned to give Clare when their baby was born. He had thought, back then, that it was just the right thing to do, because since they had made the baby, she belonged to them.

But he knows, now, watching Millie’s eyes light up as Jay serves her an enormous slice of key lime-coconut cake, and everyone applauds her for blowing out all of her candles on the first try, that he was wholly wrong.

Millie belongs to Zayn because they’re indebted to each other: their relationship is built on protecting one another, and when it comes down to it, they are both fierce and brave. Millie is a confident girl, and Zayn helped her grow to be that way. 

And Millie belongs to Liam and Danielle because they teach each other to grow. They’ve taught her literally, of course, with dance and music and numbers, but Millie showed Liam that not everything happens according to plan – and that’s all for the best, and being adaptable is the most important key to _real_ success, the kind beyond money and paper. The kind that’s grown into tiny twins blinking in amazement at the color and noise of Millie’s birthday party, each of them clutching one of Liam’s fingers. Millie is a responsible girl, and the Paynes letting her name the babies was only the beginning.

Millie belongs to Niall because they _are_ siblings, as far as Harry is concerned. They bother each other and get into scrapes, but beneath all of that, Niall thinks Millie is a tiny hero. He may never be her _favorite_ , but she’ll bring him trinkets from school and odd packets of candy she finds in foreign markets on tour, and he will do things he hates – like go to the ballet – just to make her happy. Millie is an opinionated girl, and, Harry suspects, a lot of that is down to bickering with Niall.

Louis looks up at Harry beside him and smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His hairline has receded since he was eighteen. He wears glasses more days than not. But his eyes are just the same, the laugh lines only deepened with time and _joy_ that they’ve shared. And Harry has to kiss him, still clutching tightly to the hand bearing Harry’s ring.

Millie belongs to Louis because they have always wanted each other, and needed each other, and chosen each other – and Harry – over anyone else. Love is that simple sometimes.

“Hi,” Harry whispers, his lips pressed to Louis’ ear. “Hi.”

“Hey,” Louis answers, amused, his eyes sparkling. “Can I have my hand back? I fancy some cake.”

“No,” Harry says amiably, and kisses Louis’ fingers again before letting him go. “You’ve already gave me your hand.”

“Har har,” Louis jokes, but Perrie actually does laugh from her place across the table where she’s overhead them. Zayn smiles at her and ruffles her hair before kissing her shoulder.

After they’ve demolished the cake and Millie has opened all of her presents, including a gift from Zayn of ten horseback riding lessons at a stable in Hyde Park, Anne, Jay, and their respective significant others and children – except Harry and Louis – leave the Bungalow again. Night’s fallen early, cold and crisp, and the wind hushes through the field beyond the gate. Harry and Niall drag all of the mattresses into the living room so everyone can curl up together at Millie’s request to watch one of her new DVDs. Niall makes popcorn even though they’ve literally _just eaten_ , and everyone laughs.

As the movie is ending, there’s a long, spooky, lowing sound outside that echoes in around the panes of the window.

Millie clutches onto Harry’s arm where it rests around her waist where she’s curled up in Louis’ lap.

“What is that scary noise?” she asks. Her green eyes are huge and round and Harry smiles lovingly at her before he answers.

“Don’t worry. It’s just a cow.”

 

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**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [MYEYNL Extras: Frankincense, Myrrh, and Eggstirbakin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/824540) by [aimmyarrowshigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh)
  * [MYEYNL Extras: May You Enjoy Your Cadbury Eggs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/824554) by [aimmyarrowshigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh)




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